Chains
by linalove
Summary: Because sometimes the strongest chains are not forged out of iron...ST/OC. Rating changed!
1. Chapter 1

**A/N: Hello and welcome to a new ST story. Don't ask how this came to me…Let's just say that I was inspired by several Sweeney fics…**

**So, this is a ST/OC story in later chapters…Our dear Mr. Todd is his usual tormented, dark self and my OC is…Well, you shall see…**

**So, if you read please, leave me some feedback because I need it! Also, let's see if I can go back to writing Sweeney with ease…Hmmm…**

**By the way, I want to thank **_**XantheXV**_** because she inspired this story! And no, she is lovely despite this dark tale I plan to weave…Ahem. Love you, darling!**

**Also, the rating will change as we go on…**

**Anyway, on with the first chapter (which is short, but for a reason)!**

**Disclaimer: I do not own Sweeney Todd. I only own my OC and this plot.**

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**~Chains~**

**Chapter 1**

_**Is life so dear or peace so sweet as to be purchased at the price of chains and slavery? Forbid it, Almighty God! I know not what course others may take, but as for me, give me liberty, or give me death!**_

_**~Patrick Henry**_

_Botany Bay, Australia 1835_

The ground was hot, hard and unforgiving, but he had no choice. He fell, face first upon the dirty soil. Pain exploded up and down his back, but he held in his cry of pain even when rocks bruised and nicked the skin of his pale cheek. He tumbled to the ground with a harsh gasp, his hands catching the dirt underneath him for purchase, but it was of no use to try and hold himself up. A booted foot connected with his back with a sickening crack and he felt his breath leaving him in a painful rush that caused him to lurch forward like a beggar begging for help.

His palms got caught on the ground and he hissed as the rocky surface, hidden under the scorching heat of the sand, scratched at the sensitive skin. He inhaled sharply and he had one moment to examine his hands, his _barber's_ hands, before he closed his eyes and forced strength into his body. He bucked upwards, trying to push away the heavy weight upon his back and he succeeded for only a moment before he was forced upwards by a hand in his hair.

He closed his eyes then because he knew that the laughter and jeering would come soon enough. Hands on his arms and hips urged him backwards until he was bent at an awkward angle and he squeezed his eyes further shut when it finally began.

It was his own fault really. His own damn fault and he should have seen it coming. No use to play the brave and the strong among miscreants. Inmates and guards were the same and perhaps for a reason.

He opened his eyes as the hands on his arms started hauling him away and he managed to glance at the beaten man that was on his knees several feet away from him. He noticed the gratefulness in the man's gaze, he noticed the battered hand that rose to acknowledge him, but he turned his face away and gritted his teeth. _He_ ignored it like the man _he_ had saved from another whipping had stood and looked as the guards hit and kicked _him_. He stood and simply stared like the rest of them when the possessive grip on his hips became more firm and less taunting; when it became a threat.

"Time's up, Barker." The voice in his ear caused his skin to crawl and his stomach to churn, and he flinched in revulsion.

The hands released him only to push him into a dark cell. He crawled backwards and started sitting up, a bloodied hand against the wall as he tried to stand on his own, but he knew it was useless. He knew it when the door was locked and bolted. He knew it when the bulky guard started approaching him with a leer, he knew it when the belt was loosened and pulled through the loops with obvious intent.

He walked to the right and then to the left, but the jailor followed him wherever he attempted to go until the pain in his chest and the bruises on his body caused him to buckle and crawl on the humid ground like a desperate insect that was trying to find a way out.

When the first belt lash fell upon his back and buttocks, he did not feel it. He was too numb.

_Ignore it…Shut it out._

When the second came, his chest collided with the ground and he scrapped his knees upon the hard floor.

_Don't-…_

With the third one, his shirt was shredded into two halves, almost like his battered dignity.

_Oh my God, have mercy…Please-…_

With the fourth one, he swore to every neglectful God that he would take his revenge on anyone who shattered his life and his body.

_I swear…_

With the fifth one, he grunted and looked at his bleeding hands, wondering, musing how he was going to touch his wife with such hands.

_Lucy…_

With the sixth one, he knew he'd never touch his wife again.

_Never._

With the seventh one, he realized that he would never get out alive.

_My baby…Johanna…_

When the eighth arrived, he felt a pair of hands on his hips and he shuddered in disgust.

_No…no…_

With the ninth lash, he shut his eyes and lifelessly fell into the manipulation of his limbs.

_Coward. You disgusting coward…_

With the tenth lash, he felt his eyes rolling into the back of his head and he realized that he had missed his chance to pray.

_Forgive me, God…Forgive me…_

When the final blow came, he knew no more.

oOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOo

_Fifteen years later, upon the 'Bountiful'…_

Thunder erupted and her eyes snapped open. She sat up in her bunk and rubbed her eyes in an effort to clear her blurry vision. She pushed the covers away and shivered as the cool air hit her bare feet. She sat up against the bulkhead and searched for the source of cold. Sighing and cursing at her inattentiveness, she swung her feet off the side of the bunk and stood up, rushing to close the small cabin window. Her face was splashed with water because of the raging thunderstorm and she groaned in irritation. She couldn't wait to get off that wretched ship. She simply wanted to go home; away from everything and everyone. The trip to the New World had brought her nothing but pain and grief and she suspected that an arranged marriage wouldn't be worse than living with her family.

She paused in the middle of the cabin and placed a hand on her chest, jumping when another thunder lit up the room and shook the ship violently.

"Heavens." She murmured as she returned to her mattress and gazed at the lone candle burning quietly on the nightstand.

Finding it useless to waste it during night, she leaned forward, ready to blow and diminish the flame, but then she heard footsteps down the corridor and she paused. Frowning, she turned towards the bolted door and she stared at it hard.

"Not another fight, please." She murmured with dread and as the footsteps approached she tensed up.

Two sharp knocks came on the door and she blinked. Sitting up, she grasped her robe and shrugged it on.

She stopped in front of the door and leaned her ear against it, "Papa?" She mouthed, her voice barely a whisper, but her only answer was another sharp knock. She stumbled backwards and stared at the door with apprehension.

_Don't open your door at nights. Especially when aboard a ship with desperate sailors._ Her father's words echoed in her mind and she vaguely nodded her head. It was probably the only good advice that man had given her in her entire existence.

"Ms. Avalon!" The voice startled her and she immediately recognized the youthful tone.

"Anthony?" She whispered as she stepped closer to the door with a small frown.

"Ms. Avalon, please!" He implored and she quickly removed the bolt and opened the door.

"Anthony, what in heavens is going on?" She asked as she gazed at his drenched form, but then her eyes dropped onto his straining arms and she gasped, her hand flying to her mouth.

"God almighty!" she exclaimed as she took a step back.

"Please, may I come in?" Anthony asked as he adjusted his hold on the limp form in his arms.

Speechless, Beatrice simply stared and when Anthony's knees almost buckled from the weight, she reached forward and touched the unconscious man, her hand soft on his arm as she attempted to assist Anthony.

"I haven't seen him before." Beatrice looked up and Anthony swallowed hard as he shot a glance towards the corridor.

"That's because I just found him." He responded in a rush and Beatrice gaped at him.

"Found him?" She whispered and Anthony boldly passed past her and into her cabin.

"Anthony!" she exclaimed as she quickly shut the door in fear of being spotted with a member of the crew, "What are you doing?"

When he simply placed the drenched man upon her bunk and upon her _clean_ covers she blinked in shock.

"Mr. Hope! I demand an explanation!" She hissed in sheer fury and the sailor turned towards her, his eyes pleading with her to understand.

"Please, Ms. Avalon. I found him floating in the sea. James helped me and we pulled him up and-…"

"My father hates trespassers, Anthony. You know that." Beatrice reminded him softly and he nodded.

"Yes, yes, ma'am! But we couldn't leave him. See?" He looked at the man, "He's breathing."

Only then did Beatrice turn and looked, _really_ looked, at the man. Her breath quickened at his state. His clothes were torn and soaked. His dark hair was matted and sticking to his face and neck, and his face…Beatrice swallowed hard and stepped closer. His face was bruised, but his features beautiful, enhanced by the vivid white strand that stood among the dark hair.

She quickly shook her head and turned to Anthony, "Anthony, what have you done?" She shook her head, "Did anyone see you?" She asked and he quickly shook his head.

"No, ma'am…Please, help me. I know how kind and thoughtful you are. Please, Beatrice."

She closed her eyes and looked at Anthony with a furrowed brow before she sighed and bunched up the sleeves of her robe.

"Alright. The Captain will be furious if he finds out, but-…"

"The Captain is your father." Anthony reminded her and she looked at him sharply.

"What makes you think he will be lenient on me? Do not presume things, Mr. Hope." She stepped closer to the bunk and tucked her hair behind her ears as she leaned down.

"Forgive me, ma'am." The sailor said quickly, "I just thought that-…"

"What do you want me to do?" She cut him off, interrupting him and he nodded before he leaned forward and parted the man's shirt.

Beatrice stumbled back in shock at the sight of his chest, "My God." She exclaimed and Anthony shook his head in agreement.

"I don't suppose you have any alcohol in your possession, ma'am." He whispered and Beatrice blinked to clear her vision before she turned to the young man.

Wordlessly, she turned on her heels and opened a small cabinet to their left. She pulled out a bottle of rum and stood there with it.

"Beatrice!" Anthony was speechless and she simply shrugged.

"Don't act so surprised, Mr. Hope. I am aboard a ship full of _men_." She uncorked the bottle and took a small sip to gather her courage.

"I am not ignorant of the ways of the world, Anthony. And I think tonight we will both fully realize in what kind of world we are living. Lock the door." She instructed and Anthony lingered before he snapped out of his shock and did as he was told.

Together they set to work, trying to put together the pieces of the stranger lying in front of them.

Above them, in the mist of the raging storm, right above the clouds and above every earthly thing, a seemingly neglectful God smiled.

**End of chapter 1**

**Author's note: Thank you for reading! Ahem, thoughts, please? I love them and they will encourage me to write more…If you like it, of course!**

**For more info and update news, join me on Facebook. The link's on my profile.**

**Until next time!**

**Xxx Lina ;o)**


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N: Welcome, welcome! I just have to say that I am thrilled most of you seemed to enjoy the first chapter!**

**A special thank you to: Hello Bruiser, Newland Archer, ForeverACharmedOne, music is life 99 xxx, whatcatydidnext, TinkerbellxO, PGAEmma, mariangisborne, Caribbean Wonders55, Leyshla Gisel, Balder Rask, dionne dance and XantheXV. You are all amazing!**

**Disclaimer: I do not own Sweeney Todd…If I did, he'd be in my closet…Ahem…**

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**Chapter 2**

_**There is no greater agony than bearing an untold story inside you.**_

_**~Maya Angelou **_

Three sharp knocks arrived and Beatrice tore her gaze away from the bunk. She rubbed her eyes and slowly turned towards the cabin door. She turned the lock and opened it.

James Crowy stood there looking nervous and fearful. In his arms he held a bundle of clothes.

"James?" Beatrice whispered with a cocked eyebrow and the young man blinked.

"Ms. Avalon."

She waited for him to snap out of whatever daze he was in, but he didn't move.

"James?" She spoke his name louder and the man almost whimpered.

"Ms. Avalon, ma'am…Um…"

"Are those the clothes?" She asked and the sailor looked down at the bundle as if seeing it for the first time.

"Um…yes. The clothes." He nodded with a sudden smile and Beatrice smiled back, trying to be patient because she knew, she just knew that with James you had to be patient and understanding. He just…couldn't help it. It was bad enough that he was the ship's amusement and laughing stock.

"Will you give them to me then? What did Anthony say?" She asked softly and James' eyes widened.

"Oh yes! Now I remember! He…he said to give these clothes to you. Yes, ma'am!" he exclaimed loudly and Beatrice quickly hushed him.

"Alright then." She let go of the door and opened her arms wide, waiting for the clothes.

James stepped forward and then hesitated. He then decided that it was time to peer inside the cabin.

"James!" she hissed as she slapped a hand against the doorframe, "Get back!" she pushed a soft hand on his chest and pushed him backwards.

"M-ma'am?"

"The man is weak and bare. I won't have people look at him like he's a spectacle. Now hand me those clothes before someone sees you." She shook her head at him and the expression on his face almost made her feel guilty, _almost_.

He pushed the clothes in her arms and then fidgeted.

"Is it true then?" he whispered and she frowned.

"What?"

"That he's not dead?" James' eyes went wide and she sighed.

"James, he is not dead." She patted his arm, "Why don't you go back now, yes? The Captain might need you." She stepped back, ready to return back inside, but he was still standing at the threshold.

"Yes, James?" she asked because she could sense the question.

"Ms. Avalon, ma'am…do…Do you hate your father?" James' innocence caused her stomach to churn because he couldn't understand people yet he had felt something was odd with her and his Captain.

Taking a deep breath she slowly smiled, "No, James. I don't. Tell Anthony you gave me the clothes, yes? Go back to work, you hear? And not a word to anyone." She said and James stepped back and she could finally close the door. She locked it and leaned against it for a moment, her forehead pressed against the hard wood before she shook her head and pushed away from the door.

She turned and placed the clothes on a chair near the foot of the bed. She hesitated though. She clenched her fists and then released them before she stepped forward. With care, she reached out and placed the back of her fingers over the man's forehead. It was hot to the touch. Pulling her hand away from his forehead, she slid her fingers over his bruised cheek. The mark was turning a yellowish purple so it meant that it was healing. Pulling her hand away, she reached for the water and cloth on the bedside table. She placed the cloth on the man's forehead and then walked towards the clothes. She picked up the shirt and unbuttoned it with numb fingers because she knew what followed. She had to look at all those scars again, she had to come face to face with the marred skin and she wanted to crawl away in fear because she could only imagine how he had acquired those marks.

Shaking her head at her weakness, she leaned down decisively. _He_ had them on him, _carrying_ them. _She_ could bear the sight of them. She pulled the covers down the thin arms and slipped one hand through the sleeve, pulling it up and over the bruised shoulder before she curled an arm around the man's neck. She pulled him up with a soft groan and pulled the shirt over the other arm as well. She released him and he fell back on the pillow like a ragdoll. Fighting the wave of nausea that threatened to overwhelm her, she ignored his wounded chest and buttoned the shirt up to his stomach so it wouldn't bother the sensitive skin. The wound was red and angry looking and it was obvious that it was done by something strong…probably a whip, but she was certain that it would heal on its own if cleaned properly and at least twice a day.

She didn't bother with the lower half of his body. Anthony could dress him without feeling awkward.

She fixed the covers and turned the cloth over on his forehead. He shivered at the coolness and his lips parted in a groan.

Beatrice gasped and leaned forward. "Sir? Are you awake?" She asked quietly and the man swallowed hard a few times, his brow furrowed.

"Water." The murmur was barely audible, but so desperate and Beatrice moved quickly. She soaked a clean handkerchief and brought it to his lips without wringing out the water. She placed it on his parched lips and let him suck a few drops into his mouth. The frown left his face and he became limp again, his mouth still slightly parted.

Beatrice pulled back and gazed at him with worry, but she herself felt tired and ready to collapse.

She made sure the cloth on his forehead was cool and then she sat down in a chair by the bed. She removed her shoes and stretched on the seat as best as she could. Looking at the clock, she saw that it was past noon. She had missed lunch, but she was more tired than hungry. Ignoring her growling stomach, she turned her head to the side and closed her eyes.

oOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOo

_The brand new house was dark, misty and cold. The floorboards creaked and squeaked under her light weight and she told herself that she would tell her mommy about the awful sound that made her jump every time. Papa would surely fix it on his own when he was well again. _

_She arrived at the top of the stairs with her lilac nightgown on and her perfectly braided hair, ready to slip into the covers with her mother. Mommy was always scared of sleeping on her own and Beatrice knew what she had to do._

_A sound made her look ahead and she paused. She immediately recognized the dark boots standing in front of her and she tightened her hold on her dolly, her bright eyes sparkling even when sleepy._

"_Papa?" she murmured as she looked up and locked eyes with her father, "You're here? Why is it so dark?" She asked as she stepped up on her tiptoes, curiously trying to peek beyond her father's tall figure._

"_Bea." Captain Avalon breathed, his wide red eyes trained on her in what she could only comprehend as fear. He took a deep breath and stepped in front of the door, "Bea, get back to bed." _

_Beatrice frowned, "I heard noises…Were you and mommy-…"_

"_Beatrice, go back to bed!" Her father barked at her and she jumped, clutching at her doll more tightly._

"_I want mommy." Beatrice gave a fierce pout, the one she always knew that would work on her mother._

"_Bea…"_

"_Mommy told me to come to her bed when I am scared…" she trailed off, not wanting him to know that her mother was scared more easily than her lately. She would keep mommy's secret._

"_Mommy cannot talk right now. Go back to bed like a good girl."_

"_You're lying!" Beatrice exclaimed and her father froze, "You always lie! Mommy said that I should not trust you with that!" A little finger showed him the way and he stilled at the sight of the empty bottle that was lying on the floor behind him._

"_Beatrice." Her father choked out before he fell onto his knees in front of her, his arms outstretched, but the little girl didn't move._

"_Beatrice." His tone was pleading, but she slowly shook her head._

"_Bea, forgive me." He whispered and Beatrice's nostrils flared, her little mouth parted in confusion before she broke into a sprint._

"_Beatrice!" He screamed at her with palpable agony, but she ignored him. She jumped to the side, dropping her dolly in the process and then quickly entered her mother's chamber._

_At first she saw nothing, but then she recognized her mother's perfectly manicured hand and she frowned. _

"_Mommy?" _

_The hand was resting limply onto the ground, just behind the large mahogany desk near the window, but Beatrice immediately recognized her mother's blue diamond ring._

"_Mommy?" she repeated again and when she saw the fingers move ever so slightly her eyes widened._

"_Mommy!" she cried out as a pair of gray eyes looked up at her. The face, pale and barely belonging to her mother, was peering up at her from behind the desk, the lips parted and a trickle of blood running down her chin from the corner of her mouth._

"_Mommy!" she screamed the word, but then a strong arm snaked around her waist and hauled her up in the air, pulling her back and away._

"_No, mommy!" she wiggled in the iron grip and flailed her arms, trying in vain to free herself by attacking her captor, her father._

"_Please!" The word was barely audible through her sobbing and when her mother's head fell limply onto the carpeted floor she screamed again, her nails scratching at the strong forearm around her stomach, but it was of no use._

"_Shh, Beatrice. Beatrice, I am sorry. I am so sorry…I didn't mean to." The voice in her ear caused her skin to crawl, but at the same time it was her papa's voice. She loved that voice, didn't she? Didn't she?_

_She shook her head and with a mighty buck she managed to free herself. She fell onto the hard stairs, but she quickly got up and broke into a run, ignoring the voice behind her._

"_Beatrice! Beatrice, come back! Beatrice!"_

"Ms. Avalon? Miss? _Beatrice?_"

A hand on her shoulder woke her up with a start and she cried out, her hand lashing out to smack it sharply. Her eyes wide and fearful perused the dim lit cabin and once her gaze locked with Anthony's she froze.

"Mr. Hope." She breathed, guilt boiling up inside her at the sight of the young sailor. He was rubbing his forearm while gazing at her in worry.

"I am sorry I woke you up…But my shift starts in half an hour again and I wanted to make sure you two were alright." He explained quietly and Beatrice swallowed hard. She sat up, pushing her hair behind her ear and looking everywhere but him.

"I am sorry, Anthony. Did I hurt you?" She whispered and then slowly looked up.

"No, ma'am. You surprised me is all. You were talking in your sleep." He told her as he shot a glance towards the occupied bunk.

Beatrice followed his line of vision and quickly stood up. "I was dreaming, I suppose."  
"Are you alright?" Anthony asked and she quickly nodded, eager to divert the attention from herself.

"Of course. I am glad you're here. You can finish dressing him I hope. He must be cold and I have no other blanket." She cleared her throat and moved forward.

"Of course. I shall tend to it right now, ma'am." He removed his jacket and reached for the pair of pants on the chair.

Beatrice politely turned away while he worked and after some time he spoke.

"All done, ma'am. Has he spoken at all?" Anthony asked as he fixed the bedcovers and then turned to Beatrice.

"He only asked for water. The fever is still high. He needs some medicine. Something for the fever."

Anthony's eyes widened, "Fever, you say? James was sick a week ago and the ship's physician gave him medicine in the form of syrup…Maybe I can get it for him… If you are willing to try and give it to him alone. I need to be back on deck in a few minutes." He said quickly and Beatrice nodded.

"That'd be appropriate, yes…Anthony?" She stopped him before he left and approached him.

"Yes?"

"Are you sure James won't say anything? I don't want to cause problems with the Captain…I am not sure how he will react, you see." she said quietly and the young sailor nodded.

"Do not worry, ma'am. James is my friend." He smiled and she couldn't help but return it.

"You must be the only one who can say that upon this ship. You're a good man, Anthony." She stepped back and nodded at him, "I shall be waiting here."

Anthony gave a firm nod and then stepped out of the cabin.

oOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOo

"Please." Beatrice whispered as she balanced the bottle on the man's slightly parted lips while she held his head with her other.

She tilted the bottle and the man's brow furrowed as the most probably bitter liquid slid into his mouth and down his throat. He turned his head away, delirious from the fever and coughed as he swallowed, his mouth pressed in a fierce grimace of pain.

"I am sorry. I know it must be awful…" Beatrice murmured as she helped his head on the pillow and then stepped back.

A hand curled around her skirts and she paused, her eyes wide as she gazed right into the dark eyes of the man on her bunk. Beatrice blinked and when she looked again his eyes were closed. The fingers on her skirt loosened their hold and the hand fell limply off the edge of the bunk again. She put the medicine away and then took hold of his hand, meaning to place it under the covers when something caught her attention.

She gently raised the limp hand and studied it. When her gaze slid to the inner wrist she froze. There was something there, something that she had missed before.

"Oh my." She breathed as she saw the numbers on his skin. They were imprinted, as if they had been carved into the skin with a blazing rod. Blinking rapidly, she gently lowered the hand and hid it from view.

Stepping back form the bunk, she gazed at the man and gulped. She knew perfectly well what it meant when men had such marks on them…She wasn't a fool.

The man on her bed was a stranger, yes; a man who had been obviously hurt and tortured by others, but he was also a convict.

Beatrice stumbled back and laughed bitterly at the irony of it all.

"I guess some are luckier and more influential than others then…" She whispered as her gaze flickered upwards. From above, she could hear her father's boots thudding on the floor of the Captain's cabin and she closed her eyes shut, trying not to shiver at the sound that was the cause of almost very bad dream since her childhood.

oOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOo

_Two days later…_

"I don't have much time until this evening, but I thought I'd stop by and see if you needed something." Anthony stood by the bed as she removed the wet cloth from the man's forehead and slipped it into the water again. She took a seat on the narrow bunk and looked up at the young man.

"Thank you, Anthony…"

"You should come out for dinner tonight…The Captain's been asking about you today."

Beatrice sighed, "I cannot leave him alone."

"I will remain in your place. I don't need to be on duty until midnight."

She nodded, "Alright."

"You look tired, ma'am. You must sleep."

"And I shall, Mr. Hope. Once this man is awake, healthy and out of my bunk." She looked up at him and he fidgeted nervously.

"What happens then, ma'am? How…"

"We are making port in Italy soon. If he's well by then we can say that he needed passage to London. I am sure the Captain won't deny him a trip to England." She murmured and the sailor nodded.

"We shall see then…" He sighed, "The wounds were superficial. He ought to be awake by now." The young man whispered as Beatrice wrung the water from the cloth and placed it on the man's ashen face, wiping the excess of sweat from the pale skin with a feather light touch. The swaying of the ship caused her to slip forward on the narrow mattress until her thigh was pressed up against the sleeping man's hip and arm.

"I do not know." Beatrice murmured quietly before she raised her eyes and gazed at the man in the semi darkness, "The fever is still plaguing him."

"We should call the doctor…I doubt that-…"

"No doctor." She snapped and there was a moment of silence before the young man broke it.

"If he dies it'll be on your conscience."

"I said no doctor, Anthony." She repeated quietly and against her conscience and the sailor took a step forward.

"Your father-…"

"My father," She gently took the man's hand and turned the thin wrist around, baring the inside to Anthony's gaze, "Would never accept an outlaw upon his ship." Her fingers didn't even touch the carved numbers that were burned into the man's skin. Prison marks; even Anthony knew that.

"If you call a doctor you're condemning him to death. Nobody must know. What if he is a free man?" She gently placed the limp hand down and stood up.

"Beatrice!" Anthony gasped as he looked at her and then at the man on the bunk, "What if he's not? Then we'll be accused of harboring a…a convict! We must call the master-at-arms immediately!"

Beatrice's hand curled around Anthony's wrist in a death grip.

"What are you doing?" He whispered and his young face was etched in shock.

"Stopping you." she replied calmly, "We are not Gods, Anthony." She turned and gazed at the man's face, "If fate led him to our waters, then there must be a reason. It would be a sin against God to condemn a man without giving him the chance to defend himself." She released Anthony and the sailor gaped at her before he quickly closed his mouth and nodded at her.

"I…yes. Yes, of course." He muttered at last and then stepped back, "I shall pay the physician a visit then." He stated and Beatrice smiled a little.

"Filching medicine from him again? He will realize it."

The sailor smiled, "Desperate times…"

He walked out of the small cabin, closing the door behind him and Beatrice turned her attention back to the sick man on the bed.

She dipped the cloth in water again and wrung it. Quietly, she leaned down and placed the soaked cloth on the man's neck. A shudder went through his slim body and his face broke into an expression so tormented that all the hair on Beatrice's body stood on end.

Swallowing hard, she reached out with her hand and slightly parted the folds of his half buttoned shirt. Among the expanse of pale skin and solid muscle, the angry red welt stood out, marring the already scarred chest and stomach. She was already acquainted with his body, for the task of cleaning him had forced her to impose on his privacy, but it worried her that the wounded skin was not healing as quickly as she had hoped it would. Slowly, she reached forward to feel the skin beside the welt and she wondered if she should bandage him after all.

Her fingertips had barely grazed the edges of the wound when a movement caused her to stumble backwards with a gasp.

A hand, a hot hand, and long fingers curled around her throat and she found herself against the opposite bulkhead. Wide, delirious dark eyes locked with hers and she wriggled in the man's hold as he pressed her roughly against the cold wall. She could feel the ship's humidity sticking to her dress, her bones soaking it up until she shivered from both fear and cold.

"Sir!" she gasped as she was face to face with her patient, "Sir, calm down!" She choked out as the man squeezed her neck with a strength that seemed impossible to wield in his feverish state.

"Who are you?" He hissed at her, his voice dark, groggy and hoarse from misuse.

Beatrice took a gasping breath and curled both of her hands around the man's wrist in an effort to free herself, but he groaned and smacked her hands away as if her touch alone burned him.

"Don't touch me!" His eyelids were flickering with exhaustion and she could see that he was barely able to stand, "Where am I?" He murmured in an almost pleading tone, his midnight eyes unfocused and glimmering with uneasiness.

"Sir, please. Calm down." Beatrice tried again as she raised her hands up in surrender, "You're upon the _Bountiful_. We are on the course for England; London to be exact. Now if you could tell me your name, I-…"

"England?" he whispered, his lips parted and his breath coming out in tiny pants of pain, "London?" The name fell of his lips as if he was spewing either poison or the sweetest wine.

"Yes, sir." Beatrice nodded her head and the man's hold around her throat became less firm until he was merely touching her, or rather leaning into her to keep himself from falling on the floor. Encouraged by his lack of response, she reached out to touch him and steady him again, but he flew away from her with a snarl of fury, his expression so wild and desperate that she quickly dropped her hand like it was an offensive limb that needed to be put back to its appropriate place.

His body collided with the edge of the nightstand and he stumbled, his hand flying to his chest as he grunted in pain.

Beatrice moved away form the wall and started towards him, but he crawled back from her with a hiss of fury. It was like trying to tame a wild animal. She was surprised how quickly he had come to his senses. She thought him asleep moments ago.

"Sir…" Beatrice whispered, fearful that he would end up hurting himself and reversing whatever mending she had done so far.

The door burst open then and Anthony walked in with a small bottle in his hand.

"I have-…Jesus!" he exclaimed as he rushed forward to help the man up, but Beatrice quickly stepped in front of him, her hands on his chest, an imploring look on her face.

"No, Anthony!" She shook her head and he looked at her incredulously, "I…" She turned and looked at the dark haired man with wide eyes, "He…I don't think he likes to be touched, Anthony. Stop." She said at last and Anthony blinked in confusion, his lips parted in shock.

Beatrice turned around just as the man gave a groan of pain and she barely had time to catch him as his eyelids dropped and he tumbled to the floor in a heap of limbs.

"My God!" she exclaimed as the man's weight fell onto her. She lost her balance and fell on her back with him on her lap.

"Anthony!" She almost wheezed and the young man looked too shocked to even move.

"Heaven's sake, close the door and help me!" She hissed and the young sailor sprang into action. He shut the door and walked towards them. He managed to pull the man off Beatrice and together they placed him on the bunk again.

"He was delirious. I am sure he didn't mean that." Anthony said quietly and Beatrice frowned.

"What?"

"Um, your neck, ma'am…" He pointed at her throat and her eyes widened.

"Damnation!" She hissed as she looked into a tiny mirror she hid in her drawer.

"No one saw anything. The corridor was empty." He tried to lighten the mood, but Beatrice was more worried of the finger imprints that were marring her skin.

"Damn." She muttered in resignation, "It's alright. I will cover them. You need to go now, yes? You can take my place tonight while I go to the galley for dinner. Make sure no one sees you."

"But someone will at some point, Beatrice." Anthony murmured and she nodded in agreement.

She stepped aside as he made his way to the door, pressing the bottle of medicine on the bed as he did so.

Beatrice rubbed her eyes as he left and closed the door, but the voice that followed made her freeze.

"Mr. Hope? Why are you here?" The Captain's voice rang in her ears and she tensed up.

Moving quickly, she ignored Anthony's half muttered explanations and searched for a long scarf.

She took out a dark blue one and wrapped it around her shoulders and neck. Hoping it would suffice, she rushed to the door and opened it.

"Papa." She acknowledged as she walked out of the door and quickly shut it, "I was just going out." She forced a smile and the tall man in front of her gazed at her with intensity.

"Out?"

"On deck."

"It's raining." He pointed out and Beatrice blinked and then laughed.

"Well-…"

"Mr. Hope, return to you duties. And the next time you wish to take the air don't take it in my daughter's cabin." Captain Avalon drawled and Anthony flushed.

"Aye, sir." He fled the corridor quickly and Beatrice held her breath.

"An engaged woman must not act so irresponsibly." The Captain said quietly and Beatrice swallowed hard. She regarded him for a few moments. She took in the harsh lines one his face, his green eyes and his fiercely shut mouth and strong jaw. He was the spitting image of authority and no one would ever suspect the terrible truth hiding behind the mask of propriety he had long ago forced on his face.

_Your mother's murderer is standing in front of you and you're doing nothing._

"I wasn't doing anything." She took a step closer, ignoring her inner voice, "I don't think my _fiancé_ is anywhere around, Father."

He inhaled sharply and shook his head, "That is not the point."

"I think that you are not the one to talk to me about responsibility."

"Beatrice-…"

"I don't even know the man! _He_ doesn't know me!"

"He's seen you as a child-…"

"I won't have this conversation again. I agreed anyway and that's all. I think I can spend the last few months of my free life exactly as I want them." She cut him off and her father narrowed his eyes at her.

"Be careful with whom you are seen with. I don't want any trouble with my crew. You are my daughter, but they are men. Please, limit your strolls on the deck and focus on taming that awful tongue of yours. Your future husband won't appreciate it. He is after all a man of the law."

Beatrice almost sneered, but she stopped herself in time. She remained silent as her father turned and walked away, slipping on his hat and thrusting his hands behind his back.

With a look of utter hatred, she turned and walked back inside, finding solace in the sound of the quiet breathing of the man slumbering in her bed.

**End of chapter 2**

**Author's note: Still here? Great! Thank you for reading! Comments, please? Pretty please? I need them because they feed my busy muse! ;o)**

**Until next time!**

**Xxx Lina :D**


	3. Chapter 3

**A/N: Welcome back! How are you? Well, I hope.**

**I want to thank: Makrciana, RippahGoneWolf, PGAEmma, Malsie19, HelloBruiser, MissMisc3, Newland Archer, XantheXV, ForeverACharmedOne, Leyshla Gisel, music is life 99 xxx, guest, Caribbean Wonders55, dionne dance, TinkerbellxO and Kimmy987.**

**You are all wonderful!**

**Disclaimer: I do not own Sweeney Todd.**

* * *

**Chapter 3**

_**Trust is to human relationships what faith is to gospel living. It is the beginning place, the foundation upon which more can be built. Where trust is, love can flourish.**__**  
~**__**Barbara Smith**_

Beatrice moved closer with the razor, ignoring the little voice in her head which told her to stop. She secured the towel around his neck and then sat upon the thin mattress. She flicked the old razor open and slowly leaned forward. She started with his chin, moving the blade in slow smooth movements, careful not to nick the skin.

"Yes, I know…" she murmured, "I hate it when others have to take care of me as well…Well," she paused and wiped the blade on the towel before she continued, "Not that I have been in your position many times before…Not really." She shook her head and gently touched the shaven chin, checking the result and she smiled.

"That's why I loved my childhood…I was able to sit on my own, with my grandmother…No care in the world…no one to loom over me like a dark shadow…She was glad to raise me, my grandma…" Beatrice trailed off and then shrugged, "It made it easier…It made everything easier. She was a simple thing, my grandmother." She nodded as she moved the razor up his cheek, "She was so different from my mother. She had no elegance, no…refinement, but she had a clear face, an honest aura about her that made her reliable and more beautiful than any younger woman. I do not think she had any hate in her…I don't think she was capable of such an emotion." She wiped the blade again before she moved onto another part of stubbled skin.

The man remained asleep and unmoving, but Beatrice found that she liked talking to him. People around her always raised their voices to be heard; they never cared to listen to others.

"Probably because she knew that in every man there are two sides…A good and a bad one. The latter capable of anything monstrous…the other capable of immense love and sensitivity…I don't think she realized how she too had been betrayed into thinking her family wasn't capable of evil…I don't…" Beatrice took a deep breath and moved the razor above the man's heart shaped upper lip, sliding the blade over the scratchy skin until it was smooth and pale looking again.

"I think it was best for her…not knowing. Ignorance is bliss sometimes…Isn't that what they say?"

She pulled the blade away from his mouth and then gazed at his sideburns, deciding it was better to move cautiously.

"I am sure that if she knew about the truth of my mother's death she'd…" Beatrice trailed off, pausing before she continued, "She'd be able to forgive him…But I don't think he deserves it…Not when he got away unpunished…"

She gently slid down the blade while holding his skin taut, "It's so unfair, isn't it? When others truly pay for their transgressions, he went away with no charge just because he was…lucky. That is what he always claims…He was lucky." She shook her head, "I think he was just a weakling and a coward. Only brave people take the blame for something they did…He…he throws the blame on his precious bottles." Her mouth curled and she sighed, "You see, that is why you must never judge a book by its cover. Covers are deceiving…Sinister and dishonest people hiding behind masks of virtuousness and success…It is not right…But I suppose, it is after all a…" Beatrice trailed off as she looked up, her hand ready to move towards the other sideburn.

She froze when she realized that the man's eyes were open and staring right at her. She swallowed hard and slowly moved the sharp object away from his face, fearful of causing him fright.

"Oh…A horrible world." she finished her sentence, but the intense, unnerving staring continued.

"You are awake." she whispered, "How are you feeling?" She asked him, but he did not even blink. His dark eyes were unfathomably deep and something in them glimmered like a slow burning fire.

Beatrice tensed up and moved slightly back. The man's eyes followed the movement and she licked her suddenly dry lips. She had no idea of how to proceed. Should she continue with the shave? Should she touch him? Should she speak again? Was he going to attack her again? And oh, God, why was he still staring at her like that?

Deciding that the best and more obvious choice was to finish what she had started, she moved forward again, hell-bent to finish her job even if she knew that it was most likely for him to snatch the razor from her and attack her. The possibility was more of a fact if he was indeed an escaped convict.

His dark eyes narrowed minutely when she leaned close to his face and then they lowered, dropping as his stare zeroed on the blade gliding over his bruised cheek.

"The bruise is nearly gone…I am sure in a few days it will be gone completely." She said softly, her voice shaking just a bit.

"You must be thirsty and hungry. As soon as I am done, I will fetch you something to eat and drink. Your fever is almost gone…too." She added the last sentence when she noticed how fixated his eyes were on the razor.

She finished quickly and then immediately pulled the sharp object away. His eyes followed the movement and then they snapped up to hers.

Beatrice blinked, but then his dry lips parted and she held her breath.

"Who are you?" He croaked and she almost breathed a sigh of relief at his question.

"My name's Beatrice Avalon…" She replied and he paused.

"Avalon?" His chest rose and fell with every heavy inhalation and she was worried that he would fall unconscious again. He wouldn't survive without food or water for much longer. He was too thin. He was…No. She decided. He was not weak. He was strong.

"Yes, sir." She finally replied because she could see that he was getting restless.

His eyes roamed her face, "Who were you talking about?" He murmured in a low voice, his brow furrowed.

"I am sorry?" She whispered as her heart dropped to her stomach. Had he been listening all along?

_Oh dear God…_

"Before…" His eyes closed in weariness, "When you thought I was asleep." When they reopened they were even darker.

"Oh…just a person I know…Knew." She corrected and his eyelids flickered as if he was holding them open with great effort.

"It is…" he started as he licked his lips and swallowed thickly, almost painfully, "a hard world." His voice was hoarse and if she wasn't so focused on his face, she would surely notice the dark, cutting edge in it.

Beatrice gave a small nod and his eyes lingered on her face, trying to study her, but she could see that he could not keep his eyelids open for long. He had to close them and then reopen them again and again.

"I shall get you some water now." She pulled away, setting the razor on the bedside table and reaching for the pitcher of water. She poured a glass and then turned to him, only to find his eyes closed.

"Sir?" she ventured quietly and they opened again. She smiled and brought the mug closer to his lips. His head rose and the moment the water touched his lips and tongue he gave a small moan of satisfaction. He drank the water quickly and Beatrice was momentarily scared that he would choke, but he didn't. His head fell back down on the pillow and he sighed, his chest heaving with his breaths.

"Would you like more?"

He answered her question with a shake of his head and then his eyes flickered open again.

"Ms. Avalon…" he started, "Thank you." He croaked and she smiled. She put the mug away and studied his clean shaven face with care, her smile broadening when she realized how different, how better he looked.

When her eyes moved away from his features she tensed up because he was staring at her oddly.

"It is…" He licked his lips, "an odd thing…"

She frowned, "What is?"

"The…" He raised his hand and with a single finger he pointed towards her, "rare occurrence of a smile…over something so useless…I…" he trailed off and his hand dropped onto the covers, "I don't deserve it…"

Beatrice's frown deepened, but she chose to ignore his words.

"Are you in any pain? The…wound on your chest looks better. I have tried to keep it clean with the help of Anthony, of course."

"Anthony?"

"Yes. The sailor who found you…" She nodded and his eyes drifted shut, when they reopened they were filled with various emotions.

"I am in pain…I…The worst is here…" He pressed the side of his head against the pillow and Beatrice slowly reached out to touch his temple. He inhaled sharply and moved his head out of her reach. She froze and quickly pulled her hand away.

"I'm sorry…I…If you have a headache I have medicine. If you feel up to it…"

"Later…later, I will…" He nodded and then his head fell to the side and he was unconscious again.

Once again, Beatrice had not time to ask for his name…

oOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOo

"Thank you for accompanying me, James. I can walk on my own now." Beatrice gently patted the young man's arm and he frowned.

"Alright…I…I suppose I should go back now…" He muttered and she nodded.

"And put more clothes on. This is too thin." She fingered his vest and he quickly nodded.

"Ma'am?" he called just as she was about to enter her cabin and she paused.

"James?"

He rubbed his head and then parted his lips, but nothing came out. Beatrice turned to face him fully and approached.

"What is it?" she asked softly and his lips moved then.

"Why are you getting married?"

She paused at that and then laughed a little, the sound echoing down the corridor.

"What kind of a question is that? It's…every woman's destination, of course." She replied, but James could not detect the mockery in her words. He was not able to.

"Oh…if you weren't…" he started and she nodded, "Would you marry me?"

The words were spoken with such innocence that she briefly wondered if James had any idea of how the world worked. She doubted it.

Taking a deep breath, she touched his roughened hand and looked into his bright green eyes.

"Of course I would." She replied and she was not being dishonest. James would be a much safer option, a far better one and she knew it.

His eyes lit up and he smiled, and she suddenly felt bad because she was aware of the fact that James…James would end up alone if Anthony ever took away the charity that was his friendship.

With a last pat on his hand, she turned and pulled out the key to her cabin. Her chest felt heavy because James was not considered good; he was considered foolish and naïve. Nobody knew that his foolishness and naivety were the two things that made him one of the few happy men in the world.

She listened to James' footsteps fade off as she walked inside the cabin and closed the door.

She was startled when she saw that the man on her bunk was awake and staring right across from him.

"Oh. Good evening." She put the bowl of food on the chair by the foot of the bed, but he didn't respond. He didn't even blink.

Only when she walked next to him and the bed did he blink. The vacant fog in his eyes dissolved as well and he moved his eyes away from the bulkhead.

"I have stolen your bed…"

Beatrice shook her head, "It is of no great consequence. I imagine you need it more than I do." She moved towards the water pitcher and poured water in his mug.

"I owe you my life…"

Beatrice went still for a moment, "No, sir. You owe it to God and Anthony." She smiled as she approached with the water.

The man's face changed then, an expression of utter distaste on his features and a snarl on his lips.

"God…I haven't thought of him in a long…long time." He breathed out, "God, has forgotten who I am, Miss."

Beatrice stared at him, "God never forgets. He just…wants to test us."

"Some men are not fit for martyrdom…The outcome is not always death." His gaze flickered to hers and the coldness in it made her shiver.

"I cannot…I don't know how to answer that." She started cautiously, "But I don't think you'd be alive if God didn't care for you."

The man's dark eyes narrowed and he studied her, "Has it…" he faltered and winced, "Has it ever occurred to you that perhaps we are God's amusement?"

She didn't reply.

"Or maybe that there is no God…That there is only men and their filthy creations?" he continued and she smiled sadly.

"Have you ever considered that some men are just not capable to understand life?"

He closed his eyes and a barely there twitch of his lips was enough to show her that he was amused.

"Have you ever considered that you are too young to know what life really is?" There was resignation and something sinister in his question and Beatrice knew that it was time to change the subject.

"Well, never judge a book by its cover, sir. If I did that, I'd be bombarding you with questions about the code on your wrist." She said lightly, without any real bite and his eyes snapped open. His features changed and they turned dark, shadowy and upset, but she didn't move a muscle.

He stared at her hard until his expression turned bleak again, empty.

"Forgive me, Ms. Avalon…I am not the best company…" He almost sighed before he continued, "I will also return your bunk as soon as I can."

Beatrice nodded, "We have not been properly introduced…You know my name, but I do not know yours. Call it compensation for all my trouble."

He shook his head from side to side and when he looked at her his expression was bare and raw.

"What a poor compensation…My name is of no great value…" He swallowed and raised his hand, his eyes on his branded wrist until he sighed.

"The name's Todd." He raised his eyes to hers, "Sweeney Todd."

Beatrice tried not to frown at the peculiar name and she slowly outstretched her hand for a shake.

His midnight eyes eyed her hand like it was the plague itself, but then his expression softened and his Adam's apple bobbed. His fingers twitched and just as she was ready to pull her hand away, his arm rose and those long pale fingers curled over her much smaller hand with force. She closed her own hand around his and she was shocked at how strong his hold was. She had been certain that he was too weak, too thin to possess such strength, but she had been wrong…Obviously…

He didn't linger at all and after a moment or two he pulled his hand back, placing it back on the mattress and curling his fingers into a fist, flexing them until he slowly released them.

Beatrice tried not to seem too shocked by his obvious reluctance to touch her and she stepped back.

"Um…I have brought some broth for you…I think it will do you good." She said uncomfortably as she turned towards the chair to pick up the bowl.

"Thank you…"

She turned towards him, "Can you sit up?"

"I can." He nodded his head decisively and placed his palms on the mattress on either side of his body. He winced and groaned, but sat up all the same. He raised his eyes to her and outstretched his hand.

She handed him the bowl and spoon and sat back, busying herself with something on the other side of the cabin.

A million thoughts were running through her mind, but she spoke none of them out loud.

"I suppose…I am trespassing upon this ship." His voice caused her to stop.

"Um…No one knows you're here…yet." She replied as she turned to him.

He was gazing at the broth, but he looked up at her at that.

"Yet?" he echoed with a deep murmur and she nodded her head.

"Yes-…"

A knock came on the door and Todd stiffened, his eyes wild as he gazed at the closed cabin door.

Beatrice placed a finger on her lips, motioning for him to remain silent before she walked towards the door.

"Who is it?"

"It's Anthony, ma'am." The familiar voice called and she breathed a sigh of relief before she turned the lock and opened the door.

"You scared me." She breathed as she let him in, "I told you to knock three times. You almost gave me a heart attack." She shut the door and waved towards the bunk.

"I am sorry." Anthony apologized and as soon as he spotted Todd on the bunk, his eyes widened.

"Sir! You're awake." He exclaimed and the dark haired man eyed the youth, his features confused until a look of realization pushed the shadows of suspicion away.

"I…remember you…You pulled me up." Todd murmured as he looked at Anthony.

"Yes, sir. I am glad you're finally awake. How are you feeling?"

"I have felt better, son…But I am getting there." Todd's reply was stiff and Beatrice stepped in.

"Mr. Todd regained his senses a day ago. Mr. Todd, this is Anthony Hope." She patted Anthony's arm with affection and Todd's eyes followed the movement, saw the trust in her and he relaxed upon the bed.

Beatrice was surprised that he had to see her response in order to calm down. She tried not to think too much on it.

"A pleasure to meet you, sir." Anthony nodded his head and Todd stared at him-at them-before he swallowed hard.

"I owe my life to you; to both of you…What a burden I must have been. I ask for your forgiveness."

"Then you will be surprised to know that you owe your life to someone else too."

Todd frowned, "To whom?"

"Another sailor." Beatrice replied, "But it'd be better not to meet him yet…James is…" she trailed off and then shut her eyes, "He just talks a lot. If he meets you he won't be able to keep it a secret." She explained and Todd eyed her peculiarly.

"He talks a lot?" he murmured, broth forgotten, and Anthony cleared his throat.

"James is a bit weak in the…" He didn't finish, but placed his finger on his own temple and tapped it gently.

Todd's eyes narrowed in understanding and his head moved in a nod twice.

"I see."

Beatrice smiled and once again Todd was surprised by it.

"James can't help it, but he's kind."

"Yes, of course. He wouldn't harm a fly, sir." Anthony added and then frowned, "I suppose you need more clothes now. I shall bring you more tomorrow if you are fit to walk a bit." He turned to Beatrice, "We are making port in Italy in three days. Then we can introduce Mr. Todd to the Captain. Captain Avalon won't refuse to grant you a trip to London…or you could leave the ship earlier than that-…"

"Captain Avalon?" Todd cut him off and his sharp gaze focused on Beatrice.

She swallowed, "He's my father." She nodded her head and Todd gazed helplessly at his lap.

"Then my debt is greater. You've been lying to him because of me." He muttered and there was something odd in his tone, something akin to jealousy and envy.

Beatrice took a deep breath, "I assure you, Mr. Todd, I feel no remorse. You shouldn't either." She said abruptly and at his perplexed look she regretted speaking the words.

"Think nothing of it, sir. Beatrice is right. All you have to do is inform us of your destination." Anthony smiled and nodded.

Todd gazed at them with near disbelief, "But you're not worried of my roots."

Beatrice cleared her throat, "Never judge a book by its cover, remember?" she said quietly and Todd cocked an eyebrow.

"London," he spat with a glimmer in his eyes, "would be most convenient indeed." He said without taking his eyes off Beatrice.

She stared back and Anthony clapped his hands, "Very well. I will set our plan into motion when we arrive in Italy then. For the moment, I must return. I wish you a good recovery, sir." He nodded his head at Todd who pulled his eyes from Beatrice and looked at the young sailor.

"Thank you, son."

Anthony tipped his hat to Beatrice and carefully stepped out of the cabin.

"You should eat up." Beatrice pointed out as she turned away from the bunk.

"It's a curious thing, Ms. Avalon." Todd started quietly, his voice low and hoarse.

"What is?"

"That you can trust me after I put those bruises on your pretty neck." His words caused her to still and falter.

Slowly, she turned and faced him, "It's also a curious thing that you allowed me to shave you." She approached, "Are you sure you can trust me with your neck?" She cocked her head to the side, challenging him and the unimaginable happened. His lips twitched as if in slow motion and a barely there smile lit up his mouth.

It was gone in a moment and he turned to his broth, staring at it as if it was the most fascinating thing in the world.

"It's all in the eyes, Ms. Avalon." He said suddenly without looking at her, "Every secret…" His finger traced the bowl's rim, "Every wish, every emotion, every desire is right there." He tapped the side of the bowl with his fingertips, "Right in people's eyes." He looked up at her then and blinked, "Your eyes are sharp, cutting, suspicious, but there is no evil in them." He paused, "No evil, but so much hate…I wonder who is the recipient of such a strong emotion."

"Why do you?" she asked, "Wonder, that is." She added and he averted his gaze. He remained silent for a moment and when he did talk she immediately tensed up.

"Three thousand five hundred and four." He murmured and she swallowed hard as he raised his wrist and showed the numbers to her, "That's my identity; the only truth that can be found upon me. Do you still think you trust a man like me?" He asked her as he sharply lowered his hand.

Beatrice took a step closer, "Only time will tell. With God's help, of course." She added and he snarled.

"Take whatever comfort you can from God while you still can, child. You're still young." He murmured the last sentence and then shook his head, "You will learn in due time."

"What makes you think I haven't already?" She asked him, but she didn't wait for a reply. She turned and without looking back she disappeared into the small side cabin, pulling the drapes closed.

oOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOo

_The small house stood out among the others. It had a small garden. Her grandma had always loved lilies…And roses. Beatrice preferred white roses, but they never blossomed in their garden her grandmother had once said. A pity, but young Beatrice tried not to feel sad about it. She had pink roses…Lilies reminded her of her mother. Her mother had always smelled like a fresh bouquet of lilies._

_It was no wonder that their house was so different. All the homes in London were dark and morbid…Especially the ones dear the docks. Among the filth, seawater and dirt Mrs. Morgan's garden stood out, the scents bringing the aura of spring with them_

_Beatrice plucked a flower and giggled, pushing her hair behind her ear as she brought the rose to her nose and took a deep whiff._

_The smell of freshly baked bread reached her nostrils and she squealed in delight, ready to run back inside, but a voice made her halt._

"_Bea!"_

_She froze and her green eyes widened in alarm._

_No...Not possible…_

"_Bea, my love!"_

_Slowly, she turned to face the fence and she locked eyes with the man standing a few feet away. Her father had always been handsome, but now he looked ragged and tired._

_Beatrice took a step back in disbelief. He…he couldn't be there…he…They took him away that night…He had disappeared…he…_

"_Bea, I am back." He reached out and opened the iron door, waling inside her grandmother's precious garden with his dirty shoes and…_

_Her little eyes narrowed when he touched a lily. He…he shouldn't touch them. He had no right. Those were her mommy's…He couldn't. He just couldn't._

"_Come here, Bea. I've missed you." He leaned down and Beatrice flew back and away from him with a tiny whimper._

_Her foot stumbled on a low stool and she fell down, but quickly stood up._

"_Who is there?" Her grandmother's voice rang around them and Beatrice's eyes widened._

_No. No, she could smell it on him. What if…What if he had come for her grandmother? No…Oh God, why was he back? They…they had taken him and now he was back! How had they let him come back? He had her hurt her mother. Her mother would no longer smell of lilies because of him…Her mother would never wake because of him._

_His hand curled around her thin wrist and she cried out suddenly, trying in vain to wrench herself away from him._

_He released her with shock and she grabbed at the opportunity. She turned and headed back towards the house, closing and bolting the door on his face._

"_Bea?" His voice sounded distant and the fact did nothing to ease the tears that had started sliding down her pale cheeks._

"_Beatrice? Beatrice, what's wrong?" _

_Her grandmother's hands were soft on her shoulders and she turned around, pressing her face against the white fabric of her grandmother's apron in an attempt to hide from the world._

"_Sweetheart, what is it-…" _

_The sharp knock on the door caused Beatrice to let out a scream of fear, but it didn't stop. The knocking continued until Beatrice was screaming her throat raw. Hot tears were running down her cheeks and she kept sobbing and screaming because he had done it again. He had managed to shatter her world once again. The world she had so painfully put together after so long-…_

Her eyes snapped open and she gasped for breath as tears clouded her vision and made breathing a chore. She blinked, trying to see clearly and through her haze, her green eyes locked with Todd's dark ones. She nearly choked on her own saliva and quickly drew her hands across her eyes, wiping the evidence of her dream away.

She averted her eyes, her cheeks flushing with embarrassment and mortification, but his gaze did not falter.

When she looked up again, she realized that there was no emotion on his face apart from a tiny speck of clarity. He suddenly broke the eye contact and closed his eyes again, turning onto his side and leaving her alone with her ghosts and memories. She had never been more thankful of silence. Ever.

**End of chapter 3**

**Author's note: Yeah…ahem. Thank you so much for reading! Liked it? Hated it? Any idea why Sweeney was surprised by her name? Hmm?Please let me know of your thoughts! Comments feed the muse! :D**

**Until next time, loves!**

**Xxx Lina ;o)**


	4. Chapter 4

**A/N: Welcome, dears! A huge thank you to: TinkerbellxO, charlotte-depphead-klausner, MissMisc3, Newland Archer, Makrciana, Leyshla Gisel, HelloBruiser, ForeverACharmedOne, dionne dance, XantheXV, whatcatydidnext, music is life 99 xxx, whatergoddesskasey and Caribbean Wonders55. You are all wonderful!**

**Disclaimer: I do not own Sweeney Todd.**

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**Chapter 4**

_**He who makes a beast of himself gets rid of the pain of being a man.**_

_**~Samuel Johnson **_

_He was probably dreaming again. Blessed dreams. Relieving dreams. _

_Hands were on his face, laving his skin in warmth and coolness at the same time. A cold blade was sliding smoothly over his stubbled, beaten cheek and his lips twitched in a grimace of a small smile. Only one person could probably be touching him in such a way. Only Lucy had ever dared to shave him; the only person he had allowed anywhere near his precious razors; the silver blades he had acquired with pain and sweat._

_He would indulge her from time to time. He would, because it gave him a sense of intimacy that she had never allowed him to achieve while in the warmth of their bed. Always hiding from him, shying away from his longing, hungry eyes and curling under the covers with a fierce blush while he covered her lithe body with his own, but oh…How he loved her. He'd do anything for her; anything. Hurt for her, betray for her, sacrifice his life for her, _kill_ for her. Just to see the love shining in her pale blue eyes. _

_Young, foolish Benjamin Barker would do anything for the love of his wife. Anything. _

_But he shouldn't think of that now. Not when he was in her arms again. Oh, blessed coldness. It did wonders for his feverish skin. The hellish hotness was burning him, torturing him like hot irons and for the first time in fifteen years he leaned into the cool touch, arched towards the hand on his cheek. For the first time in so long he accepted a touch that was not meant to wound, torment and humiliate. For the first time, he was able to breathe without agony clawing at his insides. For the first time in all those years he opened his eyes to face the source of touch._

_She was not…No, it was not his Lucy. It was not his wife. Instead of bright yellow hair his eyes encountered a fierce red. Funny how they looked like licking flames when they tumbled down her shoulders. She didn't look like an angel…On the contrary; she looked like a temptress that had risen from his hellish dreams. But how could she be a demon when her touch was so smooth and soft? How could she be evil when she was taking care of him…? And how…how could she _touch_ him when he had attacked her so brutally? _

_As her eyes finally moved to meet his, he managed to keep his sharp intake of breath hidden. She was brave, she was. But he could see the fear swimming in her dark moss-like eyes and it gave him a thrill he hadn't felt since his young desired filled years. A triumph of power because she was intimidated and yet still standing so dangerously close with the razor in her hand. He barely managed to keep his hoarse groan in when she carried on as if nothing had happened. _

_His mind had barely registered her soft words as she shaved him, but as he stared at her, her gentle mumblings came back with force. The wheels started turning in his head as he looked at his fiery temptress. Who was she talking about? Someone had hurt her. Killed her innocent childhood…But who? He wanted to know. Desperately. Other people's pain was soothing to him, grounding and he wished to know who had betrayed her love and trust._

_It was a dark hellish world and as he stayed still under her tender ministrations he came to the alarming realization that foolish Barker had been wrong once again. It was better to be feared than loved. Love was a weakness, a flaw that needed to be cut out like an infected plant that spread the murderous sickness towards the newborn blossom that was life. _

_Life. Life was no more. He was no more among the living. He was a walking dead. They had made him that way._

_But as the curious creature spoke words of comfort and offered him his first pain-free drops of water, he realized that maybe, maybe, atonement was close. That maybe revenge was just around the corner, waiting to be grasped into his pale hands. And as the water slid down his throat in blessed coolness he made a vow. If he could not take his life back, he would at least make sure no one took hers. He'd make sure no one hurt the phoenix- like creature that had nursed him back to life. The fiery redhead was his newfound reason to hope that maybe, just maybe, his fair-haired angel was still alive and breathing. That maybe, just maybe, she was enduring the life he had long ago given up. That maybe life had been kind once again._

oOoOoOoOoOoOoOo

"James, the jacket." Beatrice murmured quietly as she waved her hand towards Mr. Todd.

James fidgeted where he stood, but at her nod he snapped out of his usual daze and stepped forward.

Todd regarded him quietly, speculatively for a moment. His eyes flickered towards Beatrice with doubt, but she simply gave a small smile in reply.

Reaching out with his stronger hand, his right hand, he curled his fingers around the leather jacket and pulled it to him. James quickly released the fabric and stepped behind Beatrice, his eyes guarded.

Todd blinked and wondered how on earth they had employed him upon the ship. Pushing the thought away since it wasn't any of his business, he shrugged the jacket on and squared his shoulders, keeping in his wince of discomfort as his chest wound itched and pulled the skin taut.

Beatrice cleared her throat, "Here. Take this." She stepped towards him and he looked at her with his dark eyes, pushing his hair away from his face as she reached out towards him.

A frown appeared on his brow at the sight of the item on her palm.

"What's this for?" He murmured gruffly, almost sharply, and Beatrice gave a small shrug.

"It's a ring."

"I know what it is, madam. What's it for?" His tone was impatient and dark and Beatrice raised her eyes to his.

"For cover. So that there is something personal on you. We don't want people to think you dropped from the sky, do we?" She cocked an eyebrow and he stared at her blankly.

"But I almost did."

She took a deep breath, "It's not anyone's you know. I assure you that I found it years ago on my trip to the New World…I've kept it hidden because it wasn't appropriate for a girl to wear."

Todd hesitated and with an odd expression upon his pale face, reached out and picked up the silver ring from her hand.

"Silver." He breathed and she nodded, "It's expensive. A young girl like yourself might need it." His unfathomable eyes bore into her own green ones and she blinked to clear the fog of intensity.

"I assure you I do not. I am the Captain's daughter. Have you forgotten?" She broke into a small smile, but it was obvious from afar that there was something odd, sinister and dark in her amusement.

"I owe you more than my life then, Ms. Avalon. More lent things upon me…" His tone was pained, "How…peculiar." he murmured, "A man with an axe." He ran his fingertip across the design and Beatrice nodded.

"Determination. I was told it represents determination." She murmured back and his eyes flashed with a foreign emotion before he pulled it on silently. The ring hugged his little finger like it belonged there and Beatrice smiled genuinely before she stepped back.

"We're making port in half an hour, right, James?"

"Aye, miss."

"Excellent. While the rest of the crew is busy, you shall help Mr. Todd make his way on deck. From there, you will escort him, unseen, towards the docks. Sometime later Anthony will join you and you will return to the ship. I will make sure my father is there to greet you. Simple and quick. Don't you think?" Beatrice turned to look at Todd who had his eyes narrowed, an expression of utter concentration upon his face.

"Practical, Ms. Avalon…very practical. But perhaps you might indulge me even a little bit when I ask…Why?" He approached her, but didn't come _too_ close. His balled fists proved his confusion and contained agitation.

"Why?" she murmured as she gazed at the tall, peculiar man in front of her. His face and dark hair with the flash of white told her a lot of stories, but his eyes…His eyes betrayed nothing. They were blank and as black as the night.

"Master James. Shall we?" Todd snapped instead with narrowed eyes and Beatrice wondered if his question had been a rhetorical one.

"Mr. Todd." She inclined her head and shot a smile towards a perplexed James, "Do as I said, James, yes?"

James smiled a wide smile and eagerly nodded his head at her. Todd watched the exchange with a face of utter emptiness.

"Aye, Miss Avalon. Won't be seen. I swear we won't." He nodded his head in quick succession and Todd abruptly moved past him and stormed towards the door.

"Thank you for your hospitality…See you in Campania, Ms. Avalon." He called gruffly before he turned the handle and crept outside, "Come on, son." His voice was a lot softer when it uttered those three words and Beatrice wondered why.

They were both gone in a flash, the door closing behind them with a soft click.

oOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOo

"I haven't seen you on deck for ages." Captain Avalon muttered as they walked side by side upon the sunny deck.

"I had no reason too. Frankly, I do not appreciate the way I am ogled at by your men." Her eyes flickered towards a few crew members by the bow. They were staring and leering behind their Captain's back, their roughened features a clear mirror of their inner thoughts. The lasciviousness in their eyes made her sick.

"Don't mind them. They won't touch you. They know what will happen if they do."

"Oh yes. You are an expert in lashing…others." She said dryly and her father paused.

"Why are you always this bitter? Everything I say is a mistake." He hissed as he removed his hat and ran a hand through his graying brown hair.

Beatrice ignored him, pulling out her fan instead, but basking in the sun all the same.

"Beatrice?" Her father sounded impatient.

"I have no time to argue with you. I am trying to compose myself."

"What for?"

"For my new fiancé of course. I am trying to tame my wild instincts." She lifted her chin a bit higher, "I do wonder the source of my…untamed nature though." Her voice was mocking, but of course it was lost to him.

"Your mother, of course. She was always-…"

"Why, the sun is _burning_! How lovely. So, how many pounds a year does he have?" She cut him off with a sneer, her eyes not moving away from the docks. She prayed she'd see them soon enough.

"Beatrice." She recognized the resigned tone, but she spared him nothing. He didn't deserve it.

"Is he rich? How old is he really? Can he at least walk without support? How about his appetites? Is he like you? Easily provoked when drunk? Hmm?" She turned to him and she was mildly startled to see pain in his eyes. Her heart didn't clench though; not anymore.

"He is not a drinker."

"Ah, pity. I had hoped I'd be able to slip some gin in his coffee from time to time. You know, in order to have some time alone." Her tone was clipped and she was aware that crewmen were probably listening. She could hear the amused laughter behind her back, but she didn't care.

A hand curled around her elbow like a vice and she stiffened at the touch. She shrugged his hand off like it was an annoying insect and closed her fan sharply.

"You're making a spectacle out of yourself. Such behavior is utterly provoking!" The Captain hissed down at her and she smiled complacently.

"You never answered me." She told him instead as crewmen ran by them with carts of supplies.

"He is a respectable man who helped me. Isn't that enough?" He spoke from behind his teeth and Beatrice blinked at him.

_No, it's not. I fear he'll be like you._

"If he is decent enough then I'll be surprised." She informed him dryly before she turned away. Her eyes widened in pure relief that she quickly masked as curiosity.

"Anthony!" She waved her hand at the young sailor and his two companions, but her father grasped her wrist.

"Beatrice! Stop flaunting yourself to this boy! He's beneath you. Get inside." He threw her away from him sharply and she stared at him with wide eyes.

"You forgot that I no longer am a little girl. You cannot tell me what to do." With those words she turned away, pretending not to catch Todd's eyes.

The Captain was seething as she turned her back on him and he tried to calm down by taking deep large breaths.

"Captain." Anthony removed his cap and fiddled nervously with it.

"Mr. Hope. James…" Captain Avalon muttered and then his eyes fell on Todd who was standing behind the two men, his face neutral, but strikingly pale.

"Who is this man?"

Beatrice blinked and resumed fanning herself, her eyes believingly curious.

"Mr. Todd, sir." Anthony replied and then cleared his throat, "He is an old friend of mine. He's been here on business, but he needs passage back to England."

Beatrice quickly looked at her father, waiting for his reaction. He took his time to speak, his eyes moving over the man's form with speculation until Todd did the unexpected. He blinked, as if slowly coming out of a dream and stepped forward abruptly. For a moment, Beatrice thought that he'd attack her father, so stormy his movements were, but then he stopped next to Anthony and without taking his eyes off the Captain he outstretched his hand for a shake.

"Mr. Todd." Avalon muttered as he shook the man's hand and shook it firmly.

"Captain." Todd spoke behind his teeth it seemed, his voice barely audible and gruff.

Beatrice frowned. Why was he looking at her father like that? For a brief moment she panicked, thinking that they knew each other, but then his father's face relaxed.

"What business brought you to Italy, Mr. Todd?"

The dark eyed man pulled his hand away, letting it drop uselessly to his side before he balled his fingers into a tight fist. He looked disgusted by the human contact he had just been forced to endure.

"I am a barber, Captain. I was travelling, but alas my mean of transportation was sunk in a storm, leaving me adrift in the middle of the Mediterranean. I am…" His eyes flickered towards Beatrice, unreadable and unbearable in their intensity, "lucky I survived."

"How awful. England, you say?" Avalon's eyes fell on Anthony who quickly nodded.

"England where? We're making berth in London."

Todd's eyes lit up like a thunder's flash and his lips twitched at the corners. "Excellent. My destination is London, my good sir. I will provide…compensation for my passage, of course." His eyes continued to glimmer and Beatrice was frozen on the spot. His gaze was half crazed with glee and she cleared her throat.

"That won't be necessary, will it, Papa? After all, Mr. Todd is a friend of Anthony." She spoke up and all eyes fell upon her.

Her father quickly nodded, surprised when she addressed him in such a way.

"Of course. I am sure Anthony won't have a problem sharing his cabin with Mr. Todd." He looked at the young sailor who quickly nodded and smiled.

"Thank you, Captain."

"Well, I must be off then. Welcome aboard the _Bountiful_, Mr. Todd. I hope to see you in the galley for dinner one of these days." Avalon tipped his hat at them and with a last look at his daughter, he turned and walked away.

Anthony sighed in relief and James smiled widely at Beatrice. She returned it softly and then turned to gaze at Todd. His eyes were burning holes on her father's back, his lips were pulled back in a snarl and his fists were deathly pale from tension.

"It worked." Anthony breathed in disbelief.

Todd's eyes snapped towards him, sharply. "Of course. The Captain would do anything for his daughter it seems…Like every parent." His voice was strained and low.

Beatrice approached. "I am just glad it was this easy." Her eyes were focused on Todd, "Are you alright, sir?"

Dark eyes fell on her heavily before he nodded curtly. She was confused. What on earth was wrong?

"Well, I shall lead Mr. Todd to his new quarters. If you'd come with me, sir." Anthony started walking below deck and Todd blinked, quickly snapping out of his brooding.

"Thank you, son." he murmured, "Ms. Avalon." He walked away without looking at her.

Beatrice stared after him with a frown.

oOoOoOoOoOoOoOo

_It was dark and he could barely see. His hands were shackled and pulled taut behind his back. He could feel his muscles protesting as he walked, but he couldn't speak. His mouth was bound, the filthy cloth, now soaked with his pathetic tears, burning his nostrils. His clothes were barely recognizable from all the pushing and pulling and he could feel his feet aching in his hot shoes. Strands of dark brown hair were falling in front of his face and he blinked rapidly, trying in vain to clear his vision._

_The humid scent of smoke and salt prickled his nostrils and for a moment he froze, pausing in his footsteps. _

_The docks. They were taking him down to the docks. He started panicking._

_The hand around his forearm squeezed painfully and he hissed behind the gag, trying to wriggle away, but the officer gave him a sharp push forward._

"_Walk on!" The order was a hiss and he stumbled, his vision suddenly filling with light as ship's lanterns lit up their way. A dark vessel stood before them and he made a choked sound of despair at the sight of it._

_He looked frantically around and his gaze fell upon the figure of the Beadle. He stood right on the ship's plank. His walking stick tightly grasped in his hand and Benjamin's eyes widened. His back still ached from that cane. He could still feel the caked blood from the wounds sticking on the fabric of his shirt. He flinched, inhaling sharply as the man guiding him towards the ship suddenly stopped a few feet away from the Beadle._

"_Everything ready, Captain?" The title was laced with mockery and Benjamin tried hard to understand where they were taking him. He… he hadn't even properly been trialed! They couldn't…They just couldn't…_

"_Yes." Gray eyes peered over the Beadle's shoulder and Benjamin froze. He was certain he could see fear in the man's eyes._

_Silently, he beseeched him with his eyes, but the sailor quickly averted his gaze, his sharp features haggard and rugged._

"_Excellent." The Beadle's rounded eyes were alight with glee as he turned to look at the young, handsome barber behind him._

"_He…" The seaman's voice was broken and he cleared his throat, trying again, "He is guilty right? The man."_

_Benjamin inhaled sharply and quickly shook his head, his fists clenching and unclenching behind his back._

"_Why, of course. Have you no faith in our laws, Captain Avalon? After all, the Judge immediately knew you were mistakenly accused. Your little girl was…shocked from her mother's death. Surely, such nonsense is never to be believed." The Beadle sneered and the Captain blinked rapidly, trying in vain to keep his eyes dry._

"_I…I…Of course I have. I owe the Judge my life…Anything he wants, he…he can have it." He bowed his head and Benjamin's nails dug into the soft skin of his palms until they drew blood. Hot, murderous anger started boiling in his veins, pumping energy in his exhausted body until it exploded. His shoulder collided painfully with the guard's chest and he sent the man stumbling backwards. The Beadle turned towards him at the sudden noise and his leering features turned red with shock and anger._

"_Seize him!" Spittle flew out of his mouth in his panic and the guard stumbled onto his knees, his hands curling around Barker's ankles as he tried to move forward._

_A groan resonated in the dead silence of the night as the barber fell forward, his jaw catching the harsh wood of the ship's plank. He felt pain shoot up and down his face and he grunted with pain. The wind was knocked out of him and he gasped for breath, but his mouth was covered. He breathed in deeply through his nose, bucking in an ultimate effort to escape, but he was grabbed by the arms again._

_The Beadle's eyes were smug as he was pulled roughly to his feet and he shook his head weakly._

"_Take him aboard. Cuff him to the hold. He can take the opportunity to think on his sins. No, Captain?" The short, bulky blond man looked at the Captain who was watching with wide eyes, his entire body shaking at the sight of the restrained barber._

"_The hold?"_

"_Yes, the hold. It's too generous for him anyway, my good man. Move along now." He flourished his cane towards the ship and the guard silently pushed the barber towards the plank._

_He looked backwards as he was being hauled away, his brown eyes meeting the Captain's gray ones. He could see pain in them and he sneered behind his gag. He saw reluctance and guilt, but the only thing he could feel for the blackmailed Captain was pity and disdain. As he was thrust inside the humid hold he swore that he'd never forget the face of the man who sent him to hell. He'd pay along with the rest of them._

**End of chapter 4**

**Author's note: Thank you so much for reading! Please comment before you hit the back button? Now you understand why Sweeney recognized Beatrice's father? Hmm?**

**Thoughts?**

**More soon!**

**Until then, my loves!**

**Xxx Lina ;o)**


	5. Chapter 5

**A/N: Welcome, welcome! How are you all? I am writing this chapter with an annoying cold on me so…yeah…Excuse any possible mistakes.**

**So, I want to thank: Makrciana, Hugbug2012, guest, Newland Archer, Charlotte-depphead-klausner, XantheXV, whatcatydidnext, TinkerbellxO, dionne dance, HelloBruiser and Leyshla Gisel.**

**Replies to:**

**Hugbug2012: Thank you so much! To put me next to the wonderfully amazing Pamena is a great honor! I hope you like this chapter. :D**

**Guest: Thank you! I try to update as fast as I can. ;o)**

***Also, I have raised the **_**rating to M**_** for this chapter…Disturbing things to come…***

**Disclaimer: I do not own Sweeney Todd.**

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**Chapter 5**

_**We all live in the protection of certain cowardices which we call our principles.**_

_**~Mark Twain**_

The path towards Mr. Hope's cabin brought Beatrice right through the crew's quarters. Her shoulders tensed as soon as she started passing in front of the cabins and she reflexively tightened her hold on the bowl of stew that was clasped between her pale hands. She realized with great relief that most of the men were still in the galley, eating their dinner and she quickened her pace.

"That's the Captain's daughter, ain't it?" A rough voice muttered, but she didn't look up.

"Aye…" A second man replied and she realized that two men were leaning against a door to her right.

"I wonder what she doing here?" The first one snickered and Beatrice gritted her teeth before she came to a stop in front of Anthony's cabin.

She knocked on the door, but when the snickering and jeering became too loud she simply walked in uninvited.

She slammed the door shut and leaned against it, closing her eyes as the voices were finally blocked.

Upon opening her eyes, she realized at once that she had stormed in quite rudely. Her eyes fell upon the man on the narrow bunk and color rose to her cheeks.

"Forgive me." She blurted out quickly as her fingers curled around the napkin that held the spoon.

Mr. Todd lowered his book, his very heavy book, and eyed her with interest, his brow knitted together in confusion.

"Ms. Avalon?" His eyes swept her form with suspicion, "Is anything the matter?"

Beatrice quickly cleared her throat and pushed away from the door, "Um, I was rude to come in here in the manner that I did…Um, but…" she trailed off as her eyes fell on the book on his stomach, "You're reading." She blinked and he eyed the book in his hands.

"Indeed."

"The Bible." She eyed him with confusion and he abruptly sat up on the bed.

"Yes."

Beatrice took a few steps closer and tilted her head to the side, "Why the Bible?" Her question was soft and his shoulders slumped in a way that told her he didn't know himself.

"I am not sure how to answer that…Ms. Avalon." He was hesitant when he spoke her name and she fidgeted a little, "But one of the reasons why was certainly lack of choice." He looked up at her and slammed the Bible shut.

Beatrice licked her lips, "Are you enjoying it at least?" She asked and something in his eyes made her flinch.

"No." His answer was coarse, dark and extremely uninviting and for a moment she wondered if she was bothering him…She probably was.

Feeling like a fool, she quickly walked towards the bedside table and placed down the bowl of stew.

"What's this?" Mr. Todd questioned flatly and Beatrice looked at him.

"It's stew. You didn't appear in the galley…Again." She pointed out and then quickly stepped back.

"Ms. Avalon." He stopped her just by the door. So great was her desire to flee.

"Mr. Todd?" she murmured without looking at him.

"I think it has already occurred to you that I do not…enjoy the company of people." He deadpanned and she swallowed hard. Of course she had noticed that.

"Indeed."

"Then there is no need to hide the fact that I won't _ever_ appear in the galley, is there?"

His words caused her to frown and she quickly turned back around.

"I suppose not…But how are you supposed to live among people?" she asked gently and his brow furrowed again.

He swung his legs off the bunk and gazed at his booted feet, his lips pursed in thought.

"Perhaps your definition of people is…different from mine, Ms. Avalon."

"Obviously." She hadn't meant to make her voice so rude, but it was too late. His eyes snapped up to hers and she could see the darkness swimming in them.

"You're trying to wound me, madam? It won't work."

The low tone in his voice caused her to avert her eyes.

"I meant nothing by it." She muttered as she pressed her fingers to her temple.

"Your tongue is quick and sharp, Ms. Avalon…Be careful with it."

She looked up at that and their eyes locked.

"I said, I meant nothing by it."

The man regarded her silently for a while and then he stood, his movements jerky and sharp, not so unlike his guarded gaze.

"You must forgive me, Ms. Avalon. I no longer know how to act around people…Especially around women who have saved me." His voice was a murmur and she relaxed a little.

"I understand…"

"Do you?"

"Of course."

He took a tiny step closer with his hands balled into fists, "I must thank you again it seems. Your father…" he stopped and took a deep breath, "has been most hospitable."

Beatrice frowned because it seemed like the words were choking him.

"Um…"

He held a hand up, "Letting me travel with not a penny's charge and then sending his daughter to feed me…" His eyes swept her form, "almost like a pet." He walked a little closer to her and her confusion turned into anger at his next words.

"Perhaps you like treating me like a weak pup, don't you?" There was something odd in his voice; something odd and sinister and for some reason she felt that he enjoyed provoking her to rudeness.

Her eyes went wide, "Almost as much as you like treating me like a child, Mr. Todd. I assure you, I am not one." Her reply was reflexive and it didn't seem to surprise him.

"I can see that. Unfortunately, maturity doesn't come with age…Miss."

Her hands curled into tight fists at his words, "The same goes for respect, Sir."

He narrowed his eyes and then his eyes fell onto her white-knuckled hands. Breathing a sigh, he ran a hand over his face.

"Don't bring me food again, Ms. Avalon. If I am hungry I can very well find the galley on my own." His voice had lost its dark edge and it sounded resigned, but it didn't help the fact that he was being unnecessarily rude and mean to her. _To her._

"Fine." She turned to leave, mentally kicking herself for coming to the cabin in the first place, but she was once again stopped.

"Ms. Avalon."

She paused with her hand on the bolt.

She heard footsteps and she heard him when he stopped a few feet away from her. There was a moment of silence before he finally spoke, his voice low and hoarse.

"I beg your indulgence…Beatrice." He murmured her name and she blinked, feeling angry with herself when she realized that some of her anger was evaporating with his words. Why? Because she had seen him at his worst…and she still cared enough if he lived or died. Because for once in her life she was learning to take care of someone almost as weak as herself.

_But is he as weak as you? Look at him._

She turned around as her inner voice spoke and regarded him carefully.

In front of her was a man full of sorrow, wounds and scars that would never heal. A man who had seen hell, who had most probably lived in it and returned. A man who couldn't bear to be touched because all he'd known was pain and torture.

A man who could have been her own father.

At that thought she staggered and her tongue was suddenly loosened. She had no control over it.

"Were you guilty?" The words tumbled out of her mouth before she could censor them and the man in front of her frowned with incomprehension.

"What?" His rough accent shone through that single word and she swallowed thickly.

"Were you guilty?" She repeated the question despite the fact that his expression started changing.

"I know you were a convict." She took a brave step closer, "Was it well deserved or not? I have a right to know."

Todd gazed at her as if she was from another planet and his features turned ugly, his breathing short and uneven. His chest was heaving as he glared at her and she briefly wondered if his chest wound hurt because of his heavy inhalations.

"_A right?"_ He took a menacing step forward, almost moving like a jailed animal that was ready to pounce upon his food, but Beatrice didn't move.

She lifted her chin up and closed the distance between them, fearless of his stormy expression.

"You owe me your life." She continued as he jerked forward, but her words didn't stop when he curled his fingers around her slender throat.

She was slammed against the door a moment later, but she felt no fear still.

Her eyes roamed his face and she saw a muscle ticking at his cheek. His hold on her throat was tight, but not enough to bring her to her knees.

"My life." He repeated through gritted teeth.

"You said it yourself. You owe me. And I want this as compensation. I want to know. I _need_ to know." Her throat tightened with emotion at that because her mother's death had gone by unpunished. She wanted to know if life was always so unfair and cruel. She wanted to know if the man she had saved deserved it or not.

His fingers released her throat at once and he stumbled back as if burnt.

"Compensation?" His features went slack with confusion.

"I want a yes or a no. Did you deserve your punishment?" She massaged her neck and his eyes flashed with an emotion other than anger at her movements. She recognized the sudden glimmer in his eyes as regret.

His eyes left hers and he gazed emptily at the floor. Beatrice wondered how his mood could change so quickly…It was like…It was like he was leaving this world for the world of his own mind. As if that world, the one locked inside his own brain was safer than the one outside of it.

"No."

The word, the reply, when it came was flat and colorless and Beatrice felt as if her world had crumpled once again.

Images of her mother's beautiful, but empty face flashed through her head and she gasped, suddenly out of breath. Blood and fiery red locks blocked her vision and she staggered. She braced a hand on the door to keep herself up and she turned away from the man in front of her. Her eyes filled with tears; tears that seemed to burn her eyes.

Taking a deep breath, she straightened and bit her lip hard; so hard that she drew blood.

"There. Now we are even, Mr. Todd." She murmured without looking at him, her voice tight, "Please, enjoy the stew because I will keep bringing it. Every night. Good night." She opened the door and closed it quietly behind her. No longer caring about the crew's lewd looks and snickers, she made her way towards her own quarters.

By leaving, she missed the softly spoken apology of the former barber.

"I'm sorry."

oOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOo

_A few days later…_

James laughed loudly and pulled the two coins towards him, his expression eager and filled with glee. Beatrice narrowed her eyes playfully and raised her hands up in surrender, mindless of the various looks she got from the other crewmen that were gathered around in the galley.

"You got me. Again." She smiled at the young man who beamed.

"Now you're poor." He announced as he pocketed the couple of coins and started gathering the cards as the cook started handing out bowls of soup.

Beatrice nodded her head and patted his arm, not bothering to look at Anthony who was shaking his head at her theatrics. James didn't need to know that she had let him win both times. That would just reverse the whole purpose of their little game. She wanted to give him confidence, not take it away from him in double measure.

She accepted the bowl of soup Anthony handed her and picked up her spoon, making a mental note to save a bowl for the man that was still lurking in the sailor's cabin.

She dipped the spoon in the thick liquid and took a look around her. Her eyes locked with a man's just across from her and she frowned at the expression on his face. Blinking, she looked away quickly and frowned. He seemed familiar. Chancing another look at him only to find him still gawking at her, she realized that he was one of her father's cabin boys, one of his helpers. He seemed a little old to have that position, but she knew from the look in his gray eyes that he knew exactly who she was.

Feeling unnerved and utterly ruffled, she broke the eye contact and focused on her food. The sudden urge to get away form the galley overwhelmed her and someone noticed.

"Ms. Avalon?" Anthony's voice made her look up at him, "What's the matter?"

Plastering a smile on her face she shrugged, "Nothing, nothing is the matter. I am just tired is all." Her reply seemed to divert James' attention from his food because he blinked.

"Did I tire you?" he asked gullibly and Beatrice smiled at him.

A snort came from somewhere to their left, but Beatrice didn't bother to look.

"You sure did, lad." The rough voice mocked and Anthony looked up from his soup.

"Shut it, Clarke." He muttered and the sailor cocked an eyebrow at Hope's comeback.

"Got a problem, Hope? Did I offend the little mutt you keep around as a pet?"

Beatrice looked at Anthony who frowned and reached for his mug, "Go and change some sheets, won't you?" he huffed and Clarke's gaze darkened.

Beatrice gasped, "Anthony, stop it." She whispered and Clarke's eyes fell on her.

"Listen to the good Captain's daughter like a good _little_ boy." He sneered and Beatrice turned to him, her nostrils flaring with anger.

"If you continue making fun of your superiors, you may find that the Captain's daughter is not so _good_ after all." She looked at him severely and he leered at her before he slowly stood and made a show of bowing to her.

"Aye, my lady." He smirked nastily and Beatrice shuddered, but held her tongue.

Clarke sat back down and turned to his right as another crewman leaned in to whisper something in his ear.

Beatrice turned back to her food, ignoring the wild beating of her heart. She shouldn't get into verbal disputes with the crew. Mr. Todd was right. She needed to rein in her bloody tongue.

oOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOo

The corridor was uncharacteristically dark as she made her way towards Anthony's cabin with a bowl of soup in her hands and a book under her armpit. She realized that she was late, but she couldn't help it. She didn't want to be seen. In fact, she would make arrangements with Anthony so that he would be the one to bring the food to their unlikely guest. Wandering in the dark upon the ship was not the wisest idea she could have come up with.

Ignoring the dark, she tiptoed towards the cabin, cursing her carelessness for not bringing a lantern.

A noise to her right made her frown and she paused, but as she did so her foot got caught onto something. She yelped and everything went downhill from there. The bowl of soup slipped from her hands and fell onto the ground with a horrifying crash. The book slid from under her arm and fell somewhere to her left and she…She fell face first onto the floor.

Groaning with pain, she tried to move only to realize that a foot was lodged right under her stomach. Eyes widening and arms flailing about, she tried to move back.

Someone had caused her fall. At that thought she scrambled to get up, but a foot came and fell heavily upon her corseted back. She gasped as she fell down again and cried out.

"Shut up, Ms. Avalon." The voice hissed and then a hand wove itself through her hair. She was pulled up roughly and she winced, her hands flying to grab the wrist of the hand that was holding her hair in a vice grip. She felt sharp nails digging into her scalp and she opened her mouth to scream, but a palm forced its way over her mouth. Her eyes widened and she bucked, arching her back in an effort to escape the prison of the arms around her, but she couldn't. For a moment she thought that the man behind her was probably Todd, experiencing one of his dark moods again, but then the rusty scent of smoke and tar reached her nostrils and her original thought was disproved. The nails digging in her scalp couldn't possibly be Todd's either. His fingernails were always trimmed. The man behind her felt thicker too.

Groaning as she was roughly pulled backwards, she kicked out her legs, but she only succeeded in pounding her calves roughly against the threshold.

_Threshold? _He was pulling her into another cabin!

Pure fear gripped her and for a moment she turned numb in her captor's hands.

A low chuckle made her shudder and when a hand slid down her side in a rough caress she whimpered and dug her nails into the forearm under her nose.

The man cursed and hissed and the next thing she knew was the hard unforgiving ground. For a moment she went dizzy and black spots flashed in front of her eyes, but then she heard the cabin door closing and she woke up from her momentary daze.

She clawed at the ground in an attempt to move forward and moist filth slid under her nails. Curling her lip in disgust, she rolled onto her back, her eyes narrowed in the dark.

She could see only shadows and for some odd reason that made her angrier.

"You can't even look at me, can you, you bastard?" she hissed and a moment later the cabin was illuminated by light. She closed her eyes shut at the sudden change and laughter rang in her ears.

"Apparently I can…And what a sight for sore eyes…"

Beatrice opened her eyes wide and stared right into the face of Clarke. Her heart dropped to her stomach at the sight of him.

"So, _good_ Captain's daughter…I am here to accept my punishment." he dropped to his knees and smirked at her, "What's it going to be?"

"What do you want?" She hissed as she breathed heavily.

"You're nice to them. Can't you be nice to me? After all, I am smarter than the Jimmy lad back there." He cocked his head to the side as he ran his eyes over her.

"I am nice to those who deserve it. Now-…" She gasped when her ankles were seized and sharp nails dug into her skin even through her stockings.

"Never mind then. I like bad girls anyway." He tugged and she cried out when she found herself trapped underneath his heavy body.

She arched her back and moved her arms, ready to strike, but his rough, dirty hands grabbed hers and slammed them hard against the humid ground.

"Who were you taking that food to, eh? Do I know the lucky gent?" he breathed down at her and his breath smelled heavily of gin. She turned her face to the side and he snickered.

Cold panic gripped her heart and squeezed it when he grasped both of her wrists in one hand and then trailed his free one down her body in a series of gropes that had her skin crawling.

"I was told that you're betrothed to a fop. Might as well show you how it _really_ is before he comes in and steals you, aye?"

Her breast was squeezed roughly and bile rose in her throat, causing her own saliva to taste like poison. She wiggled, writhed, and bucked, but he held her down, forcing his pelvis between her trembling thighs until she screamed; her yell loud and clear.

"Shut up!" He thrust his sweaty palm over her lips and she gave his hand a sharp bite that had him crying out in pain.

"Bitch!" He smacked her hard across the face and blood flew out of her mouth as she bit her lip from the force of it. Her cheek was slammed hard against the ground with the slap and tears sprang into her eyes when the hand returned to clamp down on her mouth. She squeezed her eyes tightly shut and jerked her legs in an effort to wiggle her hips away from his rough grinding, but he stopped her effort by dragging his nails down her sensitive thigh.

A cry of pain escaped her and a flush of humiliation traveled up her cheeks when she felt his filth mingling with her blood. She was punished for her cry with four scratches on her other leg and she almost choked on her own saliva when Clarke's hand cupped her roughly though her undergarments.

"Now keep quiet." He was struggling with something on top of her and as soon as she realized what it was she went absolutely still.

A cold blade was thrust against her jugular and her eyes widened. Her breath quivered and tears rolled down her cheeks as he brushed the blade up and down her pale throat.

"Mention this and I will make sure to turn your little boyfriend James into a little eunuch…Or maybe I would try my hand on the man you keep visiting every night. That Italian guy…or whatever he is. The _guest_."

Beatrice froze. He's been watching her? Oh God, no…

The knife returned on her skin and she gulped. He laughed and tried to turn her head towards him, but she resisted his strength.

"That's right. Fear me." He breathed into her ear and she jerked under him.

"My father will kill you." She hissed, her voice muffled by his hand and he snickered.

"If he manages to stay sober enough." With those words, his hand tightened over her mouth and the knife was abandoned so he could slide his hand roughly down her stomach and between her legs.

Beatrice's body reacted on instinct and she thrashed under him, trying to close her thighs in a vain effort to stop his groping hand, but he slapped her thigh hard, causing the muscles to ripple from the force and she bit her tongue hard enough to draw more blood.

She tried to keep them in, but the tears kept rolling down her cheeks as her mouth filled with her own blood. Her lip stung and her thighs ached from his scratches, but she wasn't crying for that. She didn't care for bruises or cuts. She cared about the hardness that she could feel against lower belly. She closed her eyes when she felt his tongue on her cheek, lapping at her tears, but when she kept them closed he cursed and abruptly released her.

She tried to move then, but his hands fell heavy and greedy on her hips.

"Pathetic." He hissed as he rolled her onto her stomach and quickly bunched up the fabric of her heavy skirt.

Her eyes went wide with alarm. He would do it…He would rape her like this. Like a bloody animal.

Fear and pride kicked in and she arched her back, smacking his chest with her shoulders and pushing him off. He cursed when she sent him off balance and she moved forward on her hands and knees, but she was seized by the legs again. He grasped her thighs and dug his nails into the already scratched skin. She cried out and kicked out her foot. It connected with his leg and she cursed at her bad luck.

Her hands gave out when he gave her a rough tug backwards, his fingers ripping through her stockings in the process. She gasped when she fell on her stomach and opened her mouth to cry out when his hand found its way under her skirt.

His mouth closed over her shoulder and his surprisingly sharp teeth bit into the tender skin. Her groan of pain was smothered by his hand on her mouth again and she slapped her hands hard against the ground when he pulled her hips up and tore at her undergarments. He leaned forward and when she realized that he was going to _mount_ her like a bloody dog she bucked again, fighting him until she scraped her knees raw on the wooden floor.

"Stand still, you wench." He was out of breath and she almost smiled in triumph, but then she felt him, hard and unpleasantly hot against her backside and she screamed hoarsely, her voice barely her own.

_Please, God, have mercy-…_

His fingers pressed harder against her mouth and traitorous tears rolled down her cheeks again. She tried to move forward, but he curled an arm around her stomach, using it to keep her trapped against him as he thrust forward.

Beatrice didn't know what happened. One moment he was inside her, tearing at her tender muscles and then she was collapsing onto the ground in a heap of bruised limbs.

She rested her cheek against the wet ground, thankful for the coolness, and then she heard it.

Rustling. Heavy breathing. Groans of surprise.

Alarm blossomed again and she turned on her back, not caring of her exposed body. For the life of her she couldn't keep her thighs closed from the sharp pain.

Her blood pounded harder in her veins when she saw Clarke on his knees with his pants around his ankles. His hands were trying to loosen the rough grip of the arm around his neck and Beatrice followed the arm with her eyes.

Her eyes locked onto the face of Sweeney Todd and for a moment the world stood still. The man was so thin and yet the power he wielded at the moment was not normal. His right arm was wrapped tightly around Clarke's neck while his free one was lying limply by his side.

"What the hell-…" Clarke's exclamation was cut short when Todd released him. He fell onto his hands and knees and crawled, bloody _crawled_ to get away from the crazed man that had barged into the cabin.

Beatrice scrambled backwards as he crawled towards her direction and she pulled her knees up to her chest when her back collided with the wall.

Her eyes flickered to Todd and she froze despite the nonstop swaying of the ship. His eyes were wide and flashing with rage. His lips were pulled back in a snarl and his hand was already reaching forward.

Long fingers curled into Clarke's shoulder length hair and tugged backwards until the man cried out from the strain.

"What the hell do you want-…" His angry yell was cut off when Todd forced his knee against the other man's lower back, bending him like a bow. Clark cried out at the pain and Beatrice could only stare, numb with fear and shock as Todd leaned forward.

His white lock of hair brushed Clarke's sweaty temple as he leaned to speak in his ear.

"You wanted to take her like an animal?" He breathed in a nearly unrecognizable voice and Clarke's wide gray eyes were pleading as they flickered to Beatrice.

She didn't move though. Her mind was not protesting, it was not objecting at what she was witnessing. Self preservation was a cruel thing, but a necessity.

"Then you might as well have the death of an animal." Todd's arm moved then with mind numbing speed and the glimmer of a blade shone in the dim light, brushing in front of Beatrice's green eyes.

The blade fell on Clarke's bared throat with wild ferocity, slashing through torn skin again and again until everything turned to crimson.

Beatrice was jolted at the sight of it and a whimper escaped her lips when Todd brought the blade down one last time and then released Clarke. He fell like a slaughtered lamb in front of Todd's feet, his blood splashing Beatrice's feet and Todd's clothes in the process.

She barely held in her scream by slapping a hand over her mouth.

Todd's heavy breathing rang in her ears and then she noticed that he had managed to close the door when he had stormed in undetected.

Everything went silent then and she slowly, fearfully raised her eyes to Todd. He stood over Clarke's form like an avenging angel, spluttered in crimson. She was certain that if she were to look she'd find the scars from his torn wings on his back, a sign of his fallen grace. His face was wild, ashen, bloodied and his hand, the one holding the old razor, was shaking madly. His other hand was curled into a fist and she could see that a few hairs from Clarke's head were stuck between his fingers.

Beatrice's lips quivered as she stared from Clarke to Todd and back again.

Her mind was empty, it was not working. It was a useless weight inside her head at the moment and all she could think of was the blood around them, the dead body and her own blood that was oozing from between her legs, staining the floorboards.

"I…I…" Her voice betrayed her and the man across from her didn't move.

"I…Thank you." She breathed, surprising herself. Had she really said that? Did she thank a man who had killed someone?

Todd flinched at her words, his body jerking in response while his lips curled in a grimace of distaste.

"You _foolish_ child." He almost hissed, his knuckles tightening around the metallic handle of the blade that was still clutched in his hand, "You stupid, _girl_…"

Beatrice flinched as if struck and hugged her knees.

"Get out." he muttered as he blinked and started looking around almost frantically, _"Get out!"_ He exclaimed and it woke her up.

Scrambling to her feet, almost stumbling because her knees felt weak and everything hurt, she looked at him, waiting for direction like a little child.

"Go clean up." His words were choked as he started gathering the sheets from the bunk. He shred them into pieces with the razor and then started cleaning the blood as best as he could.

"Go and clean up I said!" He almost barked at her when he saw her staring at him emptily.

She jumped and headed for the door, but his voice stopped her.

"Get James. Speak to no one. Do you understand?" His voice was lost, almost imploring in its impatience and Beatrice gave a sharp nod, painfully squeezing her eyes shut for a moment before she opened the door and fled Clarke's cabin.

As she walked towards her cabin, almost drenched in blood and covered in bruises and scratches, she realized that there was no good and bad or black and white. Life was just a blurred mixture of grey.

**End of chapter 5**

**Author's note: Ahem, still here? Great! Thank you for reading. Liked it? Hated it? Please, let me know! Give some feedback to this penniless writer…Please?**

**I wanted to show with this chapter, that our dear barber didn't magically return to London and started butchering people up. The madness had started long ago…At least in my story…And it stemmed from extreme abuse and confinement as you have already guessed from previous chapters. This probably is the darkest Sweeney I have written and I like it…It seems real…for him at least. Lol**

**Anyway, thoughts?**

**Until next time!**

**Xxx Lina :D**


	6. Chapter 6

**A/N: Hello and welcome back! I want to thank: Destiny Xavier16, sm4567, Hugbug2012, sabrinahell, TinkerbellxO, Newland Archer, Makrciana, ForeverACharmedOne, XantheXV, MissMisc3, dionne dance, Leyshla Gisel, RippahGoneWolf, HelloBruiser, xBelekinax and whatcatydidnext. Thank you all for your comments. **

**Disclaimer: I do not own Sweeney Todd.**

* * *

**Chapter 6**

_**A man who won't die for something is not fit to live.**_

_**~Martin Luther King, Jr.**_

Someone was singing. She was certain of it. Among the futile sleep, the sweat that still stuck on her skin, the smell of blood and the pungent odor of cheap gin, she could hear the deep gruff melody breaking through her slumberous state. The song was slow…sporadic and barely intelligible, but it was there. The voice was too rough to be feminine and so it made her even more curious.

Aching limbs and sore muscles moved and clenched in response, her mind trying to break free from the torture of sleep that brought only memories and nightmares. Her fingers moved and felt the familiar texture of her bunk covers. The smooth linen was cool under her fingertips and so she grasped it with both hands, curling her sore digits around the fabric until her knuckles turned white.

She stirred and the singing turned into rugged, reserved humming and she frowned. Footsteps and the slam of a door caused her to flinch and she resisted the urge to cower like she had resisted the urge to vomit when _he_ had been all over her.

She suddenly didn't know how she had ended up in a bed. The last thing she remembered was James and his wide eyed expression as soon as he had stepped foot into Clarke's cabin. Then everything had gone black.

"I think she's coming back…Call the Captain!"

She knew that voice. It was Anthony; sweet, gentle, kind Anthony. He was the one speaking and he wanted to bring her father…As if he would give her comfort.

She wanted to laugh; hysterically so, but then a cold, an _achingly_ cold hand fell heavy and smooth on her forehead and she stopped all thought and motion. It was not Anthony's hand. Anthony's hands were always warm. The hand belonged to someone else.

"Fetch some water, lad. She will need it."

The voice! That voice. She knew that voice. Was he the one who had been singing? He must have been the one, yes. Her brows quivered and she was ready to lean into the touch, but then the hand was gone. A barely audible hiss echoed in the air and she knew that it hadn't been hers. Oh, right. She had forgotten that he detested to touch and be touched. And now she understood why. Now she knew why it repulsed him. So, she was uncertain as to why he chose to touch her of all people. She was certain that she was filthy. She reeked of abuse, dirt and blood. She wanted to tear off her own skin, to finish what Clarke had started by scratching her. She wanted to be cleansed of her own skin.

Fighting the fear, she let her eyes slip open. At first her vision was blurry, but then she focused and the pale face of Anthony appeared; calm and serene despite the worry swimming in his light eyes.

"Ms. Avalon? Beatrice?" he whispered and then laughed, "Oh, you're awake! How do you feel?" he asked and she noticed that he didn't touch her hand even as his fingers twitched next to hers.

She swallowed once, twice, three times, but she couldn't form words. Her throat was raw and her eyes stung despite the fact that no tears had formed. She was drained.

She settled for slowly shaking her head, but that too felt heavy. She moved a hand to touch her hair and she could still feel his hand there, painfully tugging on it. Her fingers moved to her neck next and she inhaled sharply when she felt her tendons aching.

Her eyes moved as her fingertips inspected her throat and they fell on the man leaning against the doorframe. Todd was staring at the floorboards in clean clothes; in perfectly _unstained_ clothes. Dark pants, a white shirt and a vest that accentuated the slimness of his waist. His slightly broader shoulders were slumped and his dark hair, now free of any crimson stains, was falling over his face, concealing his expression from her view.

Her eyes widened minutely when she saw him and Anthony looked at the man with a small frown.

"Mr. Todd, sir." He whispered and Todd's gaze snapped up to the younger man, his eyes dark, bottomless and…cold.

Beatrice sat up a little to take the man in and he decided it was time to stare back at her. And so he did. Green collided with almost black and it seemed as if time stilled. Realization came and sank in, but it brought no pity or repulsion for the victim and the culprit. She feared the joy that stormed inside her. It was inhuman, mean, hateful…vengeful and she had always resented such emotions. Clarke had been a human being despite his transgressions and yet as she stared at the man who had killed him she felt no sympathy for the murdered man. She dug deep inside her to find an ounce of disdain or fear for her savior, but she came back up empty handed.

Her gaze was still locked with Todd's when her hand moved and travelled to her shoulder. Sticky blood slid over her fingertips and she froze, her eyes going wide when she recalled the bite. Her legs jerked underneath the covers and she squeezed her eyes shut.

"Ms. Avalon?" Anthony's voice was nothing but a whisper and she paid it no heed.

She pushed the covers away from her body and started looking at her own form. The dress was gone and she was left only in a thin shift that usually served as her nightdress. She bunched up the material, needing to see the rest of the damage without caring of the other occupants of the room.

"Ms. Avalon! Beatrice!" Anthony's hands tried to stop hers, but she cried out at the first contact.

The scratches on her legs were a dark red, the tissue around them jugged and she screamed.

"Madam!" Anthony was trying in vain to stop her frantic movements and without meaning to, she smacked his hands in her effort to curl into a ball.

He stumbled back, but didn't give up. He moved forward, ready to touch her in an attempt to comfort her, but she cried out as finally hot tears leaked from the corners of her eyes.

"For God's sake, boy!" Todd's voice finally boomed, almost shaking the cabin and Beatrice watched through blurry eyes as he stormed towards the bunk, the same bunk he had laid upon while recovering, with the obvious intention of stepping between her and the young sailor.

"Leave her be!" The three words were a hiss of authority and Anthony froze, wide eyed.

"Mr. Todd, sir. She'll hurt herself."

"So let her if it pleases her." The older man snapped and Anthony wrung his hands nervously.

Beatrice breathed hard and wiped the tears off her face with the back of her hands, the hysteria slowly receding to be replaced with shame and guilt. She pulled the shift down her legs and hugged her arms.

"I'm sorry, Anthony." She whispered and Anthony peered over Todd's shoulder to look at her.

"It's quite alright-…"

"The water, lad." Todd cut him off and Anthony gazed back at the forbidding man, "The Captain will be here soon. Remember?"

"Aye, sir. I'm off, sir!" Anthony exclaimed with wide eyes and then he was gone, closing the door softly behind him.

Todd stared at the door for a few moments, his eyes narrowed, and then slowly turned around to face her.

She shivered and his eyes roamed her form for a moment before he slowly reached out and covered her still bloodied legs with the sheets.

"You must learn to control your histrionics." He remarked coolly and she looked up at him.

"Like you did?" she whispered and his eyes flashed, but he didn't comment on it.

"Once the Captain arrives-…"

"What happened? What did you do?" she cut him off and he clenched his jaw in agitation.

"I wasn't finished."

"With the body." She babbled on, paying him no mind, "And all the blood. What happened to all that blood? Mr. Todd-…"

"Lower your bloody voice, child!" he hissed and she shut her mouth quickly. He glared at her, his fists clenched by his sides.

"And they call young Mr. Crowy an idiot." He muttered angrily.

"Where is James? What… what happened?" she whispered and Todd turned sharply towards her, his hands on the mattress next to her hip.

"It's done, Ms. Avalon." His eyes were narrowed and glimmering, "It's done." He pushed away from the bunk and she frowned.

"I don't understand. What does that mean?"

"It means that I took care of it just like I took care of the animal that hurt you." His response came out clipped and reserved, but his tone didn't serve as a deterrent.

"Please, let me know." She pleaded, "I deserve to know."

He whirled around so swiftly that she got dizzy, "You _deserve_ to know?" he spat the words like poison, "It's on my shoulders, Ms. Avalon. Not on yours. As far as Mr. Hope is concerned, Mr. Clarke molested you and I caught him leaving his cabin." He spoke slowly as if to a child and she stared at him. She stared openmouthed at his composure as he continued his bunch of lies.

"I saw you bleeding on the floor and raced after him." He paused to smirk evilly, "I ran, but the coward of a bastard jumped off the ship to escape. Never saw him after that. Neither did the crew." His smirk got more twisted, "Gone with the tide he was. Like a nightmare that evaporates as soon as you wake up." He grasped her wrist in a tight grip, "Is that clear?"

Beatrice swallowed thickly and eyed his hand on her wrist. His pale hand was clean and spotless when compared to her bruised and filthy skin. The only proof of his wicked roots was the deformity upon his wrist; the mark of his imprisonment.

"You must learn to wake up from the nightmare, Ms. Avalon…" His murmured words made her look up at him, "Otherwise it will haunt you forever." He quickly let go of her wrist and she noticed that this time he didn't flex his fingers in disdain like other times. He turned away from her and started pacing.

She followed him with the eyes, "But it never goes away…Does it?" she whispered as she idly fingered the wrist he had touched.

He turned and looked at her from over his shoulder, eyes narrowed and hands clasped behind his back.  
"Just another scar left on us, isn't it?" she murmured and his eyes burned through her.

"_Us_, Ms. Avalon?" he whispered gruffly as he turned towards the foot of the bunk, "And how many scars does a young woman like yourself carry? Hmm?" His eyes were unmoving and intense and she felt her chest constricting as she gazed up at him.

"More than you'd think, Mr. Todd." She replied and his mouth twitched.

"My, my…Such fire. You are indeed a fighter, but you were unsuccessful, Ms. Avalon. In order to fight off beasts that want to devour you," His eyes were flashing with various emotions as he leaned closer, "you must learn to fight like them. Hit low, Ms. Avalon like them. Otherwise you'll be forever in their grasp. Especially here." He tapped his temple with his fingertip and she swallowed dryly.

Without thinking, she reached out and grasped his hand. He tensed up, his spine straightening as soon as her fingertips touched his skin and he tried to remove his wrist out of her grip, but she held on tight.

"You didn't do this for me, did you?" she whispered and his eyes narrowed.

"You have no idea why I did this, Ms. Avalon." His eyes roamed her face, "You're doing well in attempting to not emotionalize this. Good. I am no hero, lass. Remember that." He tugged his hand free and took a step back from the bunk.

"It's Beatrice. You may call me, Beatrice." Her words were barely spoken when the door burst open and her father walked in.

"Is she awake? Move out of my way." Captain Avalon almost trampled Todd to get to the bunk, but the former barber barely moved. It seemed like his feet were rooted on the ground because he didn't even flinch.

Her father's hands made to touch her and she pulled back, her eyes averted.

"Bea? Are you alright? How do you feel? I was informed of what happened." His words were rushed and laced with worry, but they did nothing for her.

"Then why do you ask?" she whispered and her father cleared his throat.

"Are you in any pain-…"

"Yes." Her voice was emotionless and her father placed a comforting hand on her shoulder which she shrugged off.

Todd watched the exchange, his mouth curled up in a little smirk and his fists clenched.

"Thank God, you're alright."

"Don't thank God." She looked up at him, "Thank Mr. Todd."

The Captain paused and then looked at the other man, "Yes, indeed I must." He released her and stepped closer to Todd who regarded him coolly.

He outstretched his hand towards the former barber, waiting, and Todd eyed it before he slowly touched it with his own.

"My daughter was lucky-…"

"On the contrary, Captain." Todd cut him off, speaking through his teeth, "She was not. If you were to look closely you'd notice that she wasn't. But you didn't, did you?" He released Avalon's hand and placed it on the bunk instead, next to Beatrice's foot, "Scars that cannot be seen are forever ignored, aren't they?" he muttered and Beatrice gulped, fully understanding that there was hidden meaning lurking behind his words. But what did he mean exactly?

Captain Avalon frowned, but didn't reply for a moment.

"Tell me how it all happened." He said instead.

"He attacked me. What else do you want me to say?" Beatrice spoke quietly.

"Did you provoke him?"

Her eyes snapped up to his and Todd's hand curled around the covers in response.

"That's the assertion of a judge who cannot do his job properly, Captain. I assure you, provocation is not needed." The former barber spoke lowly and the Captain turned to him.

"And what's your part in all this, Mr. Todd?"

Beatrice looked at Todd with wide eyes, but he seemed fully composed. She wondered if he had always been like this. Had his constant frozen façade always been there?

"I was in Mr. Hope's cabin, sir. I was hungry and I decided to head to the galley for some food." He began, "As I stepped out of the cabin I saw a disheveled Mr. Clarke exiting his cabin which happens to be very close to Mr. Hope's. I got curious because he was walking hurriedly and so, as I stepped in front of his cabin I peered in. I found your daughter in a pool of blood, crying and shaking. I needed no further assurance and so I went after the man. He noticed me and hurried his pace. At that moment, young Mr. Crowy joined me and we both tried to reach Clarke. Sadly, as soon as he arrived on the upper deck he made a dive for the stern and jumped off. We never saw him." He finished with a small shrug and Beatrice wondered how Todd could trust James enough to bring him into the scheme.

Captain Avalon nodded his head, "I see…I saw his cabin. The floorboards were a mess." He turned to his daughter, "The ship's doctor will come and see you." He informed her shortly and she looked away.

"I assume Mr. Crowy will confirm your story, Mr. Todd?"

Todd inclined his head calmly, "Of course, sir."

"Good."

A knock on the door alerted them of Anthony's arrival. He brought a steaming bucket of water and her father looked at her.

"Clean up. I'll fetch the doctor."

He walked away after that and Anthony followed him.

Todd stared at his back with a cocked eyebrow and then turned to her.

"What a loving father, you have…Beatrice." He muttered and when she wiped at a stray tear he frowned deeply, his mouth pursed. He lingered a moment and then he turned to walk away.

"Mr. Todd." Her voice stopped him and he paused with his hand, his _killer_ hand, on the door.

"What?" His voice was gruff and if she hadn't known better she would have said that there was an odd emotion in that single word.

"I haven't really had a father since I was nine."

His head swiveled towards her direction, but she was already standing up on shaky legs. The shift fell down her legs in dirty waves and he frowned deeply before he stormed out of the cabin, slamming the door behind him.

oOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOo

"_Some tea?" Her grandmother's voice was loud and polite and she peered from behind the staircase. Her long dress fell in waves on top of her bare feet and the corset that she had just recently started to wear was keeping her spine straight. The slight curves of her body were more pronounced by the dark moss dress and her hair was pulled up in a messy bun._

_Her eyes gazed at the backs of the two men in the parlor with distrust and despite the impoliteness of her behavior she remained where she was; unseen and out of trouble._

"_I prefer coffee, madam. Thank you. You're too kind." The voice was not warm. It was just…cool and firm. It sounded like the politeness and gentility had been forced in it and the two traits clashed and made the man's tone seem distant rather than kind._

"_I am honored to have you in my house, sir…But what is your purpose?" _

_Her father's voice sounded hesitant and reluctant. She could even detect a tinge of worry in it._

"_You have a lovely house, Captain…I imagine you are homesick every time you set sail." The man's tone was flippant._

"_Indeed."_

"_Your coffee, sir." Her grandmother's voice cut though the silence and she heard the clinking of china as she placed the man's drink atop the table._

"_Thank you."_

"_Biscuits? My little Bea helped me make them." _

_Beatrice blinked and sat down on the step, her hand around the rail of the staircase._

"_Ah, yes. It will be a pity not to try them then." The man's voice turned lighter, "Where is your lovely daughter?"_

_Beatrice stiffened._

"_In her room." Her father's response came belatedly._

"_Can I meet her?"_

_Beatrice stood up quickly. No. She was not going down there. She was not. Especially if her father was down there with that man who kept visiting their house for months. She had never seen him, but she had heard his voice._

"_Um…certainly." Her father's voice started tentatively, but it got even firmer when he called her name, "Beatrice!"_

_She jumped and had the urge to flee, but she was afraid of the repercussions._

"_Beatrice!"_

_Her feet moved without her will and they brought her to the entrance of the parlor._

"_Come, child. Sit with us." Her father pointed towards the chair next to her grandmother and she lingered at the threshold briefly before she complied._

_The man sitting across her father was older, much older, but he looked wealthy. His clothes were immaculate and he smelled of sandalwood and soap._

_As soon as she stepped closer, his eyes snapped up to hers. They were dark. The rest of his features were sharp and seemed slightly misplaced, but he had a small smile on his face which gradually turned wider._

"_You must be Beatrice." His voice was a deep baritone from up close and she gave a curt nod._

_His eyes moved over her and then came to fall on her face, "How old are you, child?"_

_She looked at her grandmother who was watching with confusion and then licked her dry lips._

"_Fifteen, sir."_

"_Hmm." The little noise was one of appreciation and she quickly sat down._

"_Well, sir-…"_

_Her father's words were cut off by the man's, "You are a beautiful lady, Ms. Avalon. You shall make an even greater woman in a few years."_

_She frowned a little and shifted in her seat, feeling uncomfortable. Why was he looking at her so…oddly? There was something peculiar in his gaze. It was like he was appraising her._

"_Who are you?" Beatrice blurted out innocently and the man smiled, his eyes glimmering with mirth._

"_Valid question." He suddenly stood up and placed his cup on the table before he gave a small bow, "My name's Theobold Turpin. At your service." He straightened and resumed his seat, his eyes on her._

_Beatrice looked at her father who was not looking at her or anyone for that matter. He was staring at his cup of tea with dull eyes._

"_What would you like to be when you grow up, young lady?" Turpin's voice brought her attention back to him and she shifted uneasily in her seat._

"_An artist, sir." She replied quietly and he chuckled._

"_A poet?" he cocked an eyebrow._

"_No, sir." She firmly shook her head, "A painter."_

_Turpin simply narrowed his eyes and smiled thinly with dancing eyes._

"_No." Her father's voice was gruff and resolute and Turpin looked at him, his fingers cradling his chin as he stared at him._

"_Pardon?" The word was spoken with slight mockery, but her father only shook his head once._

"_No." Captain Avalon repeated in a firm voice and Turpin smiled a wolf's grin before he stood up._

"_We'll see." he replied simply and without another glance, he turned and walked out of their house, closing the door behind him with a soft click.._

oOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOo

When she woke up she was disoriented.

"Ms. Avalon?" A voice to her left caused her to startle terribly.

The doctor raised his hands up in a calming gesture.  
"Forgive me, ma'am. I didn't mean to frighten you. Here. This is a salve for your…bruises and scratches. Apply it twice and they will be gone in a few days."

She eyed the bottle of salve and nodded.

"There is no other damage. Just a minor bleeding which has already stopped." He gathered his tools and then looked at her kindly.

"I've seen cases like this before, Ms. Avalon. I have some advice for you." He placed his satchel under his armpit, "Talk about it. It'll be easier."  
"With whom should I talk, Doctor Burnet? Hmm?" She looked up at him, "I'm in a ship full of men." Her voice came out strained and she reached up to massage her throat.

The elder man paused and then smiled, "Talk to someone who will understand. You're fortunate enough to have your father aboard. I wish you a quick recovery." He nodded his head at her and then walked out of the cabin. He hadn't closed the door when her father's voice cut in.

"Doctor…How is she?"

Beatrice blindly reached for the salve, grateful that the physician didn't try to touch her more than necessary.

"She is well. Minor bruises and cuts only."

"And…_There?_"

Beatrice froze with her finger halfway into the jar of salve.

"Captain, that is not…"

"Listen, Burnet, my daughter is betrothed to an upstanding gentleman. You know how this will look, don't you?" Her father spoke quietly, but she had trained her ears to listen carefully from a little girl.

"Then if he is an _upstanding_ gentleman, perhaps he will help instead of make…complaints. Won't he? Your daughter is a rape victim, Captain. Give her time to heal."

"I have no time. We're making berth in a few weeks. If she is…Isn't there something you can do?"

Beatrice quickly sat up and swung her legs off the bed, her hands groping blindly for her thick coat.

"Stitching up is no longer in fashion, _Captain_. So, I suggest you explain everything to the good fellow who is to marry Ms, Avalon. Good night."

The doctor's footsteps reverberated in the long corridor and there was a moment of silence before her father walked into the cabin.

"Bea?" he murmured when he saw her awake and already up, "What are you doing?"

She stormed towards the door, her hand pushing him out of the way as she made her way through the threshold.

"Don't call me that again." Her voice echoed in the corridor as she disappeared into the semi darkness.

oOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOo

Footsteps approached and she took a deep breath. The cabin door was opened slowly and his face showed surprise.

"Were you asleep?" she whispered and he cocked an eyebrow.

"I don't sleep, Ms. Avalon."

She didn't correct the use of her last name because she was distracted by his hand. His fingers were curled around…around…the razor. _The razor._

She looked up, "I can't sleep either."

"I am not agreeable company." His features seemed confused, his eyes flickering from her face to her bare feet and up again.

"I am not looking for agreeability, sir." The words were out of her mouth in a rush and he stared at her for a moment longer before he stepped aside and invited her in by flourishing his occupied hand towards the interior of the cabin.

Beatrice paused and then she walked in. The click of the door behind her should have been frightening after her experience, but she didn't even flinch when his footsteps thudded from behind her.

"What _are_ you looking for then?" She could feel his presence behind her, but he didn't get too close. He never did.

"Peace."

"You won't find it here."

She turned around and looked him in the eye, "I will find silence for sure." She whispered and he sneered.

"I am good at silence. On the other hand, you're not." His eyes flickered to her attire and she ground her teeth.

"I was not trained to endure torture." Her reply was sharp, but reflexive. She meant nothing by it, but of course he didn't see it.

"Indeed. But I was. Screams are useless if you cannot strike."

"Strike? Is that why you keep that razor close?" Her eyes snapped down to his pale hand.

He blinked and slowly brought the razor up to his face, "Perhaps." His eyes flashed deviously.

"What did you do the body?"

"What do you think I did, foolish girl?"

"Threw it overboard."

He smirked, "I couldn't burn it, could I?"

"How can you be so calm?" she whispered as she hugged herself, "What you did-…"

"What I did is something you approve of." He cut her off as he flicked the razor closed and then open, again and again.

"I do not approve-…"

"But you're not sad either, are you? Or perhaps you enjoy pain? Or perhaps you're a good Christian who would offer the other cheek as well for the strike…or rather the other hole-…"

"Don't be crude! I never said that." She cut him off sharply and he sneered.

"Then you truly didn't mind when I polished him off, did you?" He leaned a little closer, until she could feel his breath on her mouth. It was the only warm thing about him, his breath.

"Just admit it, child. It's human nature. It's not your fault. It's just who we are." He outstretched his arms wide, "And what a marvelous, sadistic thing is man." His gaze lingered on her for a few moments and then he turned away from her, coldly and dismissively.

"Mourn not for the dead, child. Mourn for the alive." He murmured and she clenched her fists.

"I am not a child. And thanks to you I am not a good Christian either."

He turned to her, a small almost smile on his nicely shaped lips. He motioned towards the bed side table with the razor; right where the Bible was resting.

"Then perhaps you should pray, Beatrice. Let's see what good it will do you." He muttered before he dropped his hand and walked towards the corner of the cabin, just under the small window. He sat down with the razor and flicked it open again, rhythmically, and she watched on until she looked away from the dizzying movement.

She turned towards the narrow bunk and sat down, wincing and grimacing as she did so. She placed a hand on the Bible, but she had no intention of opening it.

"Did you pray?" The question came out of the blue and he paused.

"I used to."

"That means you stopped. Why?" she looked at him and for a long moment he was silent.

"I prayed until I had nothing left to pray for." He stood and walked towards her, placing the razor in the back pocket of his pants, "They lied, you know. God is not everywhere." He grabbed a blanket from the foot of the bunk and with its help he pushed her down on the bed without touching her directly.

"Sleep." He murmured as her back hit the thin straw mattress, "I wish you no dreams."

He let go of the blanket and then walked towards the window. Until her eyelids dropped closed, he didn't move from his place. She doubted that he would anyway…

**End of chapter 6**

**Author's note: Thank you for reading. I hope you liked it!**

**The phrase **_**'polish him off'**_** is a phrase that supposedly Todd used in earlier tales before Sondheim came along. I found that while hunting for info.**

**More insight on how James feels after all this in the next chapter. Also, I introduced Turpin to you…Any guesses why?**

**And finally, who was singing? *hint, hint* ;o)**

**Comments?**

**Until next time!**

**Xxx Lina **


	7. Chapter 7

**A/N: Apologies for the wait. Couldn't be helped. A thank you to my reviewers: SpringBorn, Newland Archer, sm4567, Makrciana, Kira Tsumi, Lurid Amaranthine, MissMisc3, XantheXV, ForeverACharmedOne, TinkerbellxO, HelloBruiser, Leyshla Gisel, Why Fireflies Flash and dionne dance.**

**Disclaimer: I do not own Sweeney Todd.**

* * *

**Chapter 7**

'_**He had not breathed a word of love, or dropped one hint of tenderness or affection, and yet I had been supremely happy. To be near him, to hear him talk as he did talk, and to feel that he thought me worthy to be so spoken to-capable of understanding and duly appreciating such discourse was enough.'**_

_**~Agnes Grey**_

Beatrice had never felt protected in her life. It was just an emotion-_safety_- that she couldn't relate herself to. When she was a little girl, sure, she had felt protected, cocooned by her mother's love and security, but when she had grown older that feeling had been snatched from her, stolen in the most ruthless way. Because it was not a stranger or a foe that had ruined her illusion of safety, but her own father; the man who made her, the man that she had trusted. She had been a young girl, but she still could tell right from wrong, goodness from evil and she had known since that first time her father had returned to their home that he could never be the one to offer her protection ever again. She had to fend for herself. She had to battle with the shadows beneath her bed, the frightening sounds of their old house; she even had to protect her own grandmother because she was all she had. And now…now she could see that she was back on her own, with no one to care aside from one. That tall haughty barber who had his watchful eye on her at all times.

_How can you trust a murderer?_

She gave a small shrug of her shoulder in response to her own inner musings. She just could.

_Why?_

Because he protected me.

_By killing your attacker._

No one else would.

_Are you sure?_

They do not understand.

_And he does?_

Yes.

_He has a sick, troubled mind._

Don't we all?

_He has filled everyone's heads aboard with lies._

To protect me.

_And himself._

I'd do the same.

Her inner voice stopped talking at that and Beatrice was satisfied. Slowly raising her mug of warm broth to her lips, she let her eyes wander. The deck was nearly empty and she huddled closer into her blanket. She could see James and Anthony at the far end of the deck, minding some sails and she could see her father near the helm, giving orders to his first mate.

London was near. Beatrice feared London as much as she had feared the New World. Virginia had brought nothing but pain. Losing her grandmother to the Black Fever had been the worst thing that had happened to her. Her grandmother's old age had done nothing for her and she had died within weeks after the disease had attacked her frail body. Since then, Beatrice had declined her father's offer to stay in Virginia and plant permanent roots there. She wanted to go home, but she knew that wherever she went her father would follow.

London was the last option for her and the sudden proposal of marriage had been like a lifeline to her. So, she had accepted without even knowing the man. His name was familiar, she knew that she had heard it before, but…It was of no consequence. A life away from her father would be like a blessing for her.

"You're goin' to get cold there, missy." The suggestion was followed by a snigger and Beatrice looked up as her father's first mate passed by her to get below deck. She blinked out of her thoughts and pulled the blanket closer to her chest. The broth in her mug was getting cold and she turned slightly towards the railing, ready to throw it out, but a vice like grip stopped her from doing so.

She gazed at the long, pale, but cold fingers around her wrist and she jerked under the demanding hold like a fish out of water. The flash of a silver ring calmed her down and she finally looked up.

"Never waste food or drink, Ms. Avalon." Sweeney Todd stood above her like the protective angel she had believed him to be and she blinked rapidly, flushing when her hand started tingling.

His free fingers reached out and curled around the mug inquisitively, hesitantly and she released her hold.

"I'm sorry…I didn't think."

Todd took the mug and fidgeted where he stood as he slowly released her wrist, his fingers brushing over the tender flesh of her hand. She could have been wrong, but she felt as if the touch had lasted longer than a few seconds.

Shaking her head, she slid further into the blanket as the wind picked up and watched as the man in front of her fidgeted where he stood, his eyes darting from the broth to her and back again.

"You're welcome to have it…I am not hungry." She murmured as she crossed her legs underneath her perch and averted her eyes.

Todd's leather jacket, Anthony's previously baggy one, swooshed loudly as he turned and took a seat next to her.

Beatrice watched as he brought her mug to his nose and sniffed it. His lip curled slightly, but he took a long, greedy sip nonetheless.

"There's more in the galley."

Her comment caused him to look at her sideways and she looked away. Was she blushing? Checking, she brought a hand to her cheek. It was hot to the touch and her eyes widened minutely.

_Dear Lord._

"I'm sure there is, Miss." Todd's answer was clipped, short and spoken in a rough voice, a voice obviously ruined by misuse.

"It's Beatrice." The words slipped out of her mouth reflexively and Todd paused. She then noticed, as his hands tightened around the mug, that he had acquired a pair of half finger gloves.

"We are not friends, Ms. Avalon." His response surprised her and it obviously showed on her face.

Todd gazed at her and for one small, flitting moment his expression softened, his eyes turned liquid honey and his mouth was free of the severe line he used to force it into.

Beatrice was amazed by the change, but in a flash it was gone and his eyes turned hard, cold and dark once more.

"You're such a child." His words were whispered almost reverently and she felt her stomach clenching in response.

To his eyes, she probably was just a child… Of course.

"Maybe…" she muttered and a frown grazed his face, "But I'm not as innocent as one."

The man's eyes narrowed and she felt his gaze penetrating the blanket, her clothes, her very skin with its intensity. She shuddered when his eyes finally settled onto her face.

"A woman must be acquainted with the ways of the world at some point, Ms. Avalon." His comment took her by surprise.

"Is that so? Then perhaps you should have let him finish the job."

She wasn't sure if her comment was misplaced or wrong, but his lips formed a line so thin that she wondered if he was actually in pain while maintaining such an expression.

"You're talking of defilement. I am talking of growing up." His voice was a snarl and she tried not to be affected by the animosity in it.

"I know all about growing up." She whispered.

"Do you?" His eyes swept her form once again. "Is that why you're hiding from the world?"

She swiveled her head towards him so quickly that she got dizzy.

"Hiding?"

He motioned to her heavy blanket and clothes, "You think hiding won't make others look at you?" His cocked eyebrow spoke of mockery and she was disgruntled by it.

"No-…"

"But you do." He cut her off as he took another long sip from the broth, hissing as the now cool liquid slipped down his throat, "You're foolishly naïve enough to believe it."

"Why? Because you thought the same in the past perhaps?" She gasped when he threw the nearly empty mug right into the ocean waves and turned to face her.

"No one is going to protect you forever." He hissed, his dark eyes flashing with disdain, "Once we dock, you're on your own."

"I know that. I never asked for protection yet you were here, hiding behind the mast all evening because of me. What does that say about you?" she spoke the words with confidence, but she could see that he wasn't appreciating it.

"That I enjoy torture." His response was a vague one and Beatrice was shocked by the way his eyes were boring into her own.

"Mr. Todd, are you trying to convince me… or yourself about my need for self protection?" she murmured and he scowled.

"You're foolish, child." He turned forward again and crossed his arms over his chest, "You're insinuating that I need to protect you. I don't." His eyes fell upon a couple of crewmen who were staring at them. The two scrawny men blinked and turned away when the severe barber fixed them with a blank, but cutting stare.

Beatrice was surprised by how much people were intimidated by the man. She'd be a liar if she said that she wasn't too…But there was something else hidden among her natural fear…something even more terrifying than horror; admiration.

"Are you sure?" she whispered, gazing at his profile as if in a trance and he turned his pale face towards her, his brow furrowed and his lips slightly parted.

"I beg your pardon?" he spat the words, but she simply smiled faintly.

"Don't be insulted, Mr. Todd." She gazed at the sky, "Life and experiences make us do…all kinds of things."

"You're still insisting that I _need_ to protect you." He sneered cruelly as he leaned closer.

Beatrice tensed up as his amazingly hot breath fell upon her chilled cheek, "Do you think I killed for _you_? Hmm? Do you have such a horrifying illusion, child?"

Beatrice quirked an eyebrow at his constant use of that word and she turned to look at him.

"As a matter of fact, no." She shook her head and the sneer left his face. He wasn't expecting such a reply.

He scowled, "Explain yourself."

"Do I have to?" Her fingers curled around the blanket more tightly.

"Ms. Avalon, I am not a man to be trifled with." His words caused a peculiar flutter inside her chest.

Without thinking, she reached up and tried to fix the collar of his shirt which was sticking out in a rather amusing way.

Todd's entire frame tensed up at the touch and he jerked backwards.

"What are you doing?" he murmured with a deep frown that made him look older than he actually was.

Not giving up, she reached out again and fixed his shirt. His eyes gazed at her arm, hand and fingers like they were the plague itself.

"You see yourself in me. Minus the dress." She whispered and when her fingertip slid over his left sideburn, he hissed and flinched back, sharply smacking her hand away before standing up.

"I do not find you amusing, Ms. Avalon. Just pathetic." He wiped at his cheek with his sleeve, as if wanting to brush her touch away and Beatrice quickly stood up, ready to apologize.

"I am sorry. I didn't mean to touch-…"

"I don't see myself in you, Beatrice." He hissed, ignoring her apology and lowering his hand form his cheek, "You know why, child?"

"Don't call me that."

Todd smirked, leaning closer and frowning in puzzlement when she inhaled sharply.

"Because, _child_," He smirked when she grimaced, "I didn't have anyone to look up to when I was beaten, raped and tortured. I expected no one to show up. I didn't look at anyone like he was the Christ himself. I was alone. Unlike you," He raised his wrist towards her, "I was just a number." He forced her fingers upon the carved numbers on his skin and she stiffened, trying to pull her hand back.

"Understand, _child_?" he hissed as he hunched over her like a lover would. No one else knew that his touch was rough and bruising around her wrist, "Don't touch me again." He hissed before he threw her hand away and stepped back.

"Keep your head up, Ms. Avalon." His tone was blank and emotionless again as his eyes roamed her form once, "No one is going to do it for you." With that final blow, he turned on his heel and walked away, towards the other side of the deck.

She watched him unabashedly as he leaned over the railing and rubbed first his branded wrist and then his palms. One would think that he was bathing in the aftermath of the touch of a beloved one if it wasn't for the severe grimace upon his face. It made Beatrice feel cold.

A hand on her shoulder caused her to shriek in fright and she didn't fail to see Todd's reaction at her sudden yelp. He whirled around quickly, his eyes wild and his fist curled. His right hand was braced above his right hip for an unknown reason and Beatrice's eyes widened when she realized that she had made such a sound.

Blushing with embarrassment, she looked at the person standing behind her. It was just her father.

Todd's muscles uncoiled and he whirled away from them with a scowl, but Beatrice had her answer. He did see himself in her and he _did_ want to protect her. He craved it. She wasn't sure why the thought gave her such a thrill.

_You are mad_. Her inner voice was quick to judge, but she ignored it, focusing on her father instead.

"What's the matter with you? You're dragging this heavy thing everywhere." Captain Avalon grimaced as he saw his daughter all covered up.

Beatrice's mood soured even more, "I wonder why." She whispered cynically and he tensed up.

Running a hand over his face, Captain Avalon sighed.

"You have to stop behaving like this soon, Bea." He muttered and Beatrice looked away, "You will be married soon. You cannot act like a frightened bird-…"

"I will act as I feel. And to tell you the truth, father, you have not made me feel safe to walk around upon this ship. Do not presume to know how I feel." She took a step back, but he caught her arm.

"Then help me understand."

"You cannot understand!" she exclaimed and the men around them paused in their tasks to look at them, "No one can."

"Beatrice. You need help-…"

"I need to be left alone." She shrugged her arm out of his hold and took a step back, "Do not worry. I won't shame you upon our arrival."

Captain Avalon paused, his eyes roaming his daughter's features, "Prepare your fancy dress. You look horrid. We shall be docking in London tomorrow. Tell your _friend_." He jerked his head towards Todd's direction and she tensed up.

"I don't have friends, father." She muttered before she turned and walked away.

Her father shook his head, but did not linger. He retuned to his post swiftly.

Sweeney Todd reacted differently however. He turned slowly, and gazed at the girl's retreating form. His lips were set into a severe scowl, but the more he watched her retreat they broke out of their usual routine and curled almost imperceptibly upwards. The smirk was not warm, or perhaps he meant it to be warm, but he didn't know how to express it differently. To any onlooker he looked like a sadistic predator lusting after his prey.

Suddenly, his gaze changed course and settled on the Captain's form. Todd leaned back against the rail, bracing himself against it with his rear and waist as he let his eyes linger on his protégé's father.

_Protégé?_

_Oh yes. Definitely._ He paid no heed to his inner voice however. He rarely did. He always acted on impulse anyway. He had learned to do so. They had _trained_ him to do so. Darkness, filth and pain were great tutors of life. They were effective.

The change was immediate upon his face the more he gazed at the Captain of the _Bountiful_. The previous smirk could be considered warm when compared to the fierce expression he was now wearing upon his pale face. His eyes were narrowed to the extreme, and glowing like little flames. His top lip was curled and he was biting hard down on his tongue; so hard he tasted blood.

His right hand brushed away the fabric of his leather jacket and if anyone was close enough to see they'd notice the dull flash of an old razor fastened on his belt loop. His fingertips brushed over the hidden blade and the expression on his face became peaceful all of a sudden. His eyes dropped slightly and when the Captain's eyes fell upon him from the helm he found the willpower to smile a dead smile.

Captain Avalon tipped his hat at him and Todd inclined his head ever so politely.

_Soon all filth will be wiped from our lives, my little one. Soon… _

His thoughts were interrupted when he caught sight of young James. Pulling his hand away from the beloved old razor he had claimed for his own since the night of his first kill, he let the jacket fall over his hip once again. Wearing his most calm and blank expression, he pushed away from the rail and waved his hand, trying to catch James' attention. It did not work. Resisting the urge to roll his eyes, the former barber spoke up.

"Master James."

The young man paused and Anthony nodded at him, silently giving him permission to take a small pause.

James wiped his hands on his dirty pants and walked towards Sweeney Todd.

"Mr. Todd, sir." He was slightly breathless from his exertions, but his eyes were innocent.

_He's a good lad._ Todd's thought was spontaneous much to his displeasure. Resisting the urge to scowl at his own self, he placed a hand on the lad's shoulder.

"Son, do you like it here?"

James was taken aback it seemed. He scratched the back of his head and shrugged.

"It puts food on my table, Mr. Todd."

Todd nodded and cocked an eyebrow, "What do you plan to do next? I heard Captain Avalon won't be sailing for a while. The _Bountiful_ will remain docked."

He could see that the lad's brain was working hard to sponge all the new information and he could see the panic swimming in James' eyes. No one would employ him. No one else knew him like the crew of the _Bountiful_. Where would he go?

Todd resisted the urge to shake the young man in order to get a reply.

"So…no more sailing?" James finally whimpered and Todd set his manipulation into motion.

"I…plan to live in London, son." He licked his pale lips, "I intend to open up my shop again. I am a barber, you see…"

James' eyes lit up, "Ms. Avalon lives in London!"

Todd's eyes glimmered manically, "That she does." His lips twitched in glee.

James fell silent again and Todd placed a hand on the lad's shoulder, "I shall need help and there is no one else I can trust to help me." He continued and the young man looked at the barber with wide eyes.

"In London?" James clarified.

"In London." Todd nodded soberly and James blinked as if trying to solve a riddle.

"You'd hire me, sir?" he finally whispered, quiet, as if telling a secret.

Todd's eyes narrowed in mock speculation, "I could."

"Until the _Bountiful_ sets sail again…" James trailed off and the barber nodded firmly.

"Of course, son."

James looked away and then leaned closer, "Then perhaps I should stay…You…you are a good man. You helped Ms. Avalon and I kept the secret."

Todd nodded, trying to smother the guilt that was feasting upon his cold heart.

"You did, son."

James smiled, "Then I shall come with you, sir. I swear on pain of death that I will be an honorable assistant."

Todd smiled a rare half smile and clapped the younger man on the back in the only form of encouragement he could ever provide.

"Good lad."

_He is. And you will burn into the deepest circle of hell._

_Desperate times call for desperate means, Barker. _

oOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOo

The door was thrust open before she could knock. The plate of food swayed precariously in Beatrice's hand, but she caught herself in time, not wanting to seem that pathetic.

"Ms. Avalon. You don't give up, do you?" Todd's voice was hoarse and slightly groggy and she briefly wondered if he had been sleeping. Impossible, because his eyes were too much awake and glimmering like lanterns.

"I have tried." She sniffed, "My guilt always eats me up in the end."

He cocked a single eyebrow, "How…unexpected."

She ignored the irony in his voice and thrust the plate towards him, "We shall be docking first thing in the morning. You'd better eat before it gets cold."

His hand reached for the food in silence, but before she could scatter away like a frightened rabbit, he spoke.

"You enjoy taking care of people, don't you?"

She paused with her back towards him. For a moment she didn't speak and he frowned.

"Beatrice?"

She inhaled sharply at the sound of her name, but didn't respond.

"What would your betrothed think if he had knowledge of your manners?" Todd's question caught her off guard and she turned around to face him.

"Don't talk about him."

The barber was intrigued, "Why? Do you love him?" he spat the words like poison and she wondered why he had such a scowl on his face.

"I barely know him."

"Who is he?"

Beatrice smiled and slipped closer, "You won't be able to protect me forever, remember, Mr. Todd?" she whispered and his spine stiffened, his muscles flexing, but he had other things in his mind and fighting was not among them.

"Indeed." He stepped aside and waved his hand towards the cabin, "Shall you come in?"

Beatrice frowned, "I cannot."

"Why ever not?" He leaned closer, smirking evilly, "I have the Bible and I know how much you abide by it."

Beatrice allowed herself to smile because believe it or not she realized that he was pulling her leg. Sweeney Todd, the murderer, was teasing her…Was this his way of saying goodbye? She wasn't sure, but she surprised even herself when she took the first step forward.

Todd watched her unblinkingly, his fingers tight around the plate of food she had so devotedly provided him with, before he closed the door behind them.

London was ahead of them and only one of the two knew what the future would bring; only one truly knew what lay ahead.

**End of chapter 7**

**Author's note: Thank you for reading! Comments are appreciated. :D**

**Xxx Lina**


	8. Chapter 8

**A/N: Welcome back. Sorry for the delay. Life has been hectic. **

**I want to thank my reviewers: smiling steph, Makrciana, Bryan Cranston, JohnnyDeppLover44, WaterWarrior6, SpringBorn, MissMisc3, whatcatydidnext, incessantSteam, Leyshla Gisel, Caribbean Wonders55, TinkerbellxO, XantheXV, Lurid Amaranthine and dionne dance.**

**Disclaimer: I do not own Sweeney Todd.**

* * *

**Chapter 8**

'_**It is impossible to suffer without making someone pay for it; every complaint already contains revenge.'**_

_**~Friedrich Nietzsche **_

"_Ben."_

_His eyelids fluttered at the sweet, far away sound. His name._

"_Ben."_

_His brow furrowed at the melodic voice. _

"_Ben, wake up." A giggle and a happy baby gurgle._

_His eyes snapped open immediately. He gasped for breath and tried to move only to realize that he could not. His nostrils tingled with the smell of dirt, humidity, sweat and blood. His frantic eyes roamed the semi darkness. The first thing he noticed was the iron bars. Realization dawned. He was alone, locked in the hold of the ship. His hands were bound together with shackles. His clothes tattered and moist from the dirty seawater that was covering the hold floor. The only thing still in good condition was his overcoat. Torn at the sleeves and lapels from all the pushing around, but it was covering his injured back securely. He winced because consciousness also brought pain; pain numbed from the realm of dreams._

_He shifted his bottom to get into a more comfortable position, but when his back made contact with the bulkhead he growled in pain like a wounded animal. Deciding to rest on his side, he pressed his cheek against the bulkhead, his eyes fixated on a particularly darker part of the wood._

_His chest was heaving with his harsh breathing, but he couldn't possibly control his breaths long enough to calm down. His throat was parched and his stomach was in severe pain. He had lost count of the days he'd been without proper food. He didn't want to remember because he would get another panic attack. Closing his eyes, he tried to fall back to sleep, but he couldn't. Everything was too loud for his heavy head; the sea waves, the strong wind, the crew's rough voices; the sound of normality. _

_Yes, normality. Most of the men upon that ship were simply doing their work. One in particular had spotted him locked in the hold. Ben hadn't expected to be offered more than a piece of old bread, but the crewman had offered him his broth. The barber didn't know what to make of the act of kindness. He could barely speak from the pain and exhaustion, but he wanted to thank the sailor. He hadn't seen him since that day though. He had already started forgetting his face. He was getting more and more forgetful by the hour and he loathed that. He already had a difficult time in remembering Lucy's face. Johanna was there though, right behind his closed eyelids and he knew why. He adored his daughter and while Lucy was his wife and the mother of his child, Johanna was __**his**__. Only his. She was a part of him and he doubted he could ever forget her beautiful pale features or the way her tiny fingers would curl around his index finger when he was trying to put her to sleep. He doubted he could forget how his baby's breath felt when it fanned over his chest when he was holding her, or how her tiny lips felt when she would press them against his clean shaven cheek in an attempt to mimic her mother's kisses._

_No. He loved Lucy, she was his heart, but Johanna was his life because she was from his blood; a part of his soul._

_Shaking his head, he tried to fight against forgetfulness. No, he would not forget them. He would not._

_His head shot up when he heard upcoming footsteps. Taking a deep breath, he wiped the stray tear that had rolled down his cheek with his torn sleeve. He expected another crewman or the guard, but all he got was the face of the Captain. He tensed up._

_The iron door was unlocked a moment later and Ben raised his eyes cautiously. The man's countenance didn't speak of anger or violence._

_**Don't be so pathetic.**__ His inner voice scolded him cruelly, but he couldn't stop the violent lurching of his stomach._

_The Captain didn't speak. He only presented him with a plate filled with food. Ben didn't move. His eyes stared at the offered plate with uncertainty and no matter how loudly his stomach growled, he didn't take the offering._

_The Captain lowered his eyes and quietly placed the food on a low stool that was next to the bars._

_Ben followed his movements like a hawk._

"_Where are we going? Where are you talking me?" He couldn't even fathom how his voice could be so hoarse, but it was his voice. He could feel his vocal chords vibrating in his throat as he spoke. _

_The captain pulled a flask of water and placed it on top of the stool too._

"_Australia." The older man replied gruffly before he looked over his shoulder once._

"_Why?" When the man didn't reply Ben's eyes narrowed, "Why?!" _

_The Captain visibly jolted from the scream and gulped. Ben wanted to vomit at how pathetic the man looked. He was free to do as he pleased and yet…yet he had decided to crawl in front of the feet of a man who was nothing but a vicious, envious vulture. But why?_

"_Answer me. For the love of God, answer me." Barker's voice trembled and the Captain's chest heaved with the next breath he took._

"_Botany Bay."_

_Ben's breath hitched while his heartbeat slowed down. Penal colony. No. Lord, no._

"_Eat before the guard finds out I came down here, son." The Captain sounded reluctant, fearful; weak._

_Alarm and panic threatened to overwhelm him and he tried to hold onto something, anything. His best option was the man in front of him._

"_Help me."_

"_I cannot." A quick shake of the head emphasized the reply._

"_Please." The plea was a growled hiss, but the Captain was already walking backwards._

"_I beg you." He forced the words out, feeling them like they were poison upon his dry tongue. No innocent man should beg like that. It was wrong, it felt dirty._

"_I'm sorry." The slam of the iron door was too loud and it spoke of finality. The air seemed too thick all of a sudden, his lungs felt reluctant to do their job and his hands had started trembling. To steady his shaky fingers, he curled them into a fist. His nails dug into the already abused skin of his palms, but he didn't care. The pain grounded him, it gave him hope because as long as he was in pain he was alive; he was breathing. As long as he remained alive, he would see his family again. God owed him that much. _

_Air filled his lungs at once and he sputtered and gasped at the sensation. That's it. Just breathe, he told himself. _

_He raised his eyes as the guard returned to his post by the cell door. Ben's eyes narrowed into slits and his body started shaking with fury. Suddenly, and not caring of the repercussions, his foot shot out and crashed the food to the ground in retaliation._

oOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOo

Beatrice's eyes swept over the harbor. It was still very early. She could feel the chill soaking her bones and she nestled closer to her thick shawl. She could hear her father barking orders to the crew, but she did not turn to see the activities behind her. The air tousled her hair, but she didn't bother to push it away from her face. Distant humming rang in her ears and she paused. It sounded like singing, except the melody had no words. It was just the heavy baritone rumble of a man's voice. Turning her head to the right, she spotted the culprit.

Todd was standing a few feet away form her. His jacket was unbuttoned and flowing with the chilly wind. His hair was a dark midnight upon his head and his eyes even darker. His posture, as stiff as a plank of wood, spoke of expectation, impatience and reluctance at the same time.

Beatrice took a deep breath and allowed herself to bask in the deep rumble of his voice. She didn't know why, but she was going to miss him. She shook her head and turned towards him, wanting to relish the last moments of peace. She wanted to approach him and speak to him, thank him, but she didn't move. She didn't want to appear clingy or annoying. She didn't want to appear weak. She wanted him to remember her with…fondness, but she knew it was impossible. How could he remember her as anything but a menace, a trouble? She had nursed him back to health, yes. She had kept him warm, sated, safe, but what he had sacrificed was not comparable. His hands were tainted with sin because of her.

_Are you sure? He is a convict. You have done enough. You don't owe him anything. You're square now. Let him go. _

He chose that moment to turn and look at her. He chose that moment to pin her with his heavy gaze. Beatrice stopped breathing for a moment. His expression was neutral, it could even be considered cold, but his eyes. Oh God, his eyes spoke of such extreme pain and agony that she could have drowned in their tortured depths. Was it possible for a man to carry such a burden in his eyes? Was it possible for someone to hide so much?

She had spent so much time with him in silence…Nights in complete silence. Nights when she could do nothing but offer and seek protection. Was she that selfish? She should have asked, she should have made it better. He had made it better and she was certain that he was not aware of how much support and security he had provided with his silence when others kept speaking and asking questions that she didn't want to give answers to.

_He knows. _

Yes, he did. And she had been so naïve to believe that men never suffered the very same way women did. Because there will always be people in this world that will abuse and step on others no matter their position and their sex. Yes, she had been naïve, but she no longer was.

His stare was still on her and his eyes seemed a little lost. Was she making him uncomfortable? Dear God, how long had she been staring at him like a fool? Too bloody long if she judged from the way his eyes had started sending warning signals.

She was saved from Anthony's approach and his presence gave her the courage to approach Todd.

Taking small, tentative footsteps, she approached the two men, but didn't speak, didn't interrupt them.

"I heard that you will be taking James with you?" Anthony's voice didn't sound accusing. Just curious.

"Indeed, Mr. Hope." Todd's reply was amiable if not a little bit cold.

Anthony took a deep breath and then smiled a little, a small laugh escaping him.

"That is good."

Both Beatrice and Todd were surprised by the young man's response.

"Mr. Hope?" Todd was frowning and Beatrice dared to step a little bit closer. Todd noticed her approach, but didn't comment on it.

"It will be good for him…To be on land. To live permanently somewhere…" Anthony cleared his throat and smiled, "He trusts you."

Beatrice watched as Todd's features rippled at those words, but Anthony was unfamiliar with Todd's mannerisms to notice anything amiss. She swallowed hard and let her hand drop to her side, just next to Todd's hand.

"I know he does. He's a good lad." Todd's reply was short and casual and Anthony nodded his head.

"That he is, Mr. Todd…What were you singing?" The sailor's question was surely an innocent one, but Todd's entire frame shook with the impact.

Beatrice watched with increasing worry as the man's eyes darkened.

"Just…a melody." The reply sounded choked, forced and Beatrice swallowed hard.

"Does it have words?" Anthony continued digging deeper, but Todd seemed lost in his own world now. His eyes could only watch as the port came closer and closer to the _Bountiful_.

The lanterns were reflected in Todd's eyes and Beatrice could only imagine what was going through the man's head. Her fingers twitched with the desire to touch him, but she stifled the urge.

"It's about a man…Who lost everything." His voice was too hoarse to be conversational, but Anthony again didn't notice. Beatrice understood why people never understood each other; they never bothered to actually listen.

"Who was he?" Anthony seemed too curious for his own good.

Beatrice's hand moved on its own accord then. Her fingertips brushed over Todd's uncovered knuckles. He stiffened and his fingers curled into a fist. Nevertheless, Beatrice didn't let go. Instead, she coiled her fingers around his tight fist and held on. Todd's mouth was a thin line on his face and his eyes seemed more lucid now, more aware of his surroundings. His fist flexed underneath Beatrice's hand and when his fingers uncoiled, she held her breath.

"He…" he started and Beatrice shot a surreptitious glance down towards their hands. His cold, thin, but strong fingers curled around her first two fingers and squeezed.

Her breath hitched when their skin made contact.

"…was nobody." Her fingers were released rather abruptly, almost thrown away with fury and she quickly buried her hand deep between the folds of her shawl. His rejection, even to that little gesture of comfort, shouldn't have bothered her so much and yet it did.

"Oh…a tale perhaps?" Anthony was insistent.

Todd cocked an eyebrow, "Perhaps…A ghost maybe." His lips barely moved as he spoke and Beatrice watched as he turned his back on her and walked away. She noticed with confusion that his hand, the one that she had dared to touch, was buried deep inside the pocket of his leather jacket.

oOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOo

Her feet were stepping on solid ground. No more ships, no more swaying, no more nausea, no more fear and soon, no more Todd.

She tried to smile as several crew members waved at her, but it was forced. She knew what awaited her back in her father's house; memories and the constant presence of her father.

"Captain?"

Her ears prickled with warmth at the voice. Cautiously, she turned around. Todd was walking towards her father and her. James was following close behind him and when he saw her he smiled.

She couldn't help but return it. She was going to miss James as well. Unwillingly, she had turned him into an accomplice; an accomplice to a crime. A crime that she'd never ever forget.

"Mr. Todd?" Her father's tone held a hinge of surprise. He was surely curious why James was following the barber.

Todd's lips twitched, obviously delighting in the sight of shock her father so obviously displayed.

"I would like to thank you for your hospitality." Todd gave a small, ever polite incline of his head. It was mesmerizing how such a man could channel equal measures of gentility and violence though his very eyes.

_Stop it. Just stop it._

"You are welcome. I owe you a lot, Mr. Todd." Her father cleared his throat and Beatrice looked at him and then at Todd with cautiousness.

"Sir?" Todd's eyes were narrowed at the corners, his lips a perfect _o_ of fake shock.

"You saved my daughter from further trouble. If you hadn't seen her…"

Beatrice cringed. Todd's eyes flickered towards her direction and he held a hand up.

"Please, sir. No such talk in front of Ms. Avalon. Clearly, my…contribution is over exaggerated." The barber's tone didn't sound fake this time.

Beatrice wondered if he was being serious or sarcastic. This time she couldn't really tell.

_He invited you to his cabin. You spent hours of watching him, listening to him breathe. Do you think he is being fake?_

_I don't know._

She didn't know.

"Nevertheless, I owe you one proper dinner at least." Her father never invited people to their house. The possibility of seeing Todd again, of seeing him standing next to her like a wolf protecting his young was tempting. She inwardly smacked her forehead.

_No, never again. You're on your own now…Remember? He said that. You're on your own until your marriage. Then…then…_

Her throat was suddenly clogged and her stomach lurched. Marriage. _Oh God…Marriage._

"I would be honored to dine with you, Captain." Todd's eyes were glimmering with glee.

"Excellent." Her father nodded his head in satisfaction and her insides turned again, "I reside in Whitcomb Street. I am sure you know where that is?"

Beatrice's churning turned even worse and she quickly whirled around. She walked a few steps forward and supported herself against a tower of barrels. The smell of the dock along with the realization that her dreaded future was approaching tantalized her gag reflexes.

"Leicester Square. I know the area…" Todd's voice was distracted by something, she could hear it even through the noise of her blood pounding in her ears, "I had worked as an apprentice there when I was a lad…"

Footsteps; there were footsteps approaching, but she could no longer help it. Acid burned her throat and before she knew it, she had emptied the contents of her stomach onto the dock.

Two gasps and a few curses from sailors reached her ears. She could even hear Anthony's voice as he approached them, eager to help, but a hand had already fell heavily on her shoulder and fingers were quick to gather her hair away from her face. The scents of leather and shaving foam were strong in her nostrils.

_Todd._

Shaking her head, she clamped a hand over her mouth. What was wrong with her? She felt fine a few moments ago.

"Alright?" The barber's voice was low in her ear and his hand was still on her back. She gave a quick nod, amazed by how swiftly he had moved. He shouldn't have done that. Now everyone was looking at them.

"I am fine. Thank you." She quickly distanced herself from him and he straightened his posture, his spine as stiff as a plank of wood, "I apologize." She muttered quickly and accepted her father's handkerchief.

Todd's eyes followed the action like a hawk.

"You must eat. Excuse me, Mr. Todd. I need to take her home. Once you're settled, you're welcome to contact me."

Beatrice looked at Todd, offering a smile at James and Anthony who were gazing at her with concern.

"Thank you. I shall make sure to inform you." Todd took a step back and Beatrice felt him closing in on himself, folding his hands in front of him securely.

With a last incline of his head, her father took her arm and started leading her away. She tried not to look back, but she felt the need to do something, say something that will imprint her forever in his memory, but she didn't know what to say.

She allowed to be guided away, but when they arrived in front of a carriage, she freed her arm and licked her lips.

"I…have to go and see Nana's house first." The words were out of her mouth in a rush.

Her father paused, "You're not well. You shall go another day." He tried to take her hand again, but she moved, suddenly hating the possessive grasp.

"I shall go now…I have to. The sun will be up in a while…I won't be long." She quickly walked away, back, towards the direction Todd had went with James and Anthony. She quickened her pace and caught up with them just as Anthony turned to walk away. She let him leave and then she spoke up.

"Sir?"

Todd was in the process of steering James away when he froze.

James was the first one to turn and he smiled.

"Ms-…"

"Son, will you give us a moment?" Todd cut him off and James looked ready to disagree, but Todd's expression must have changed his mind. Without a word, he nodded and walked a few steps away.

Todd remained turned away from her and she decided to approach him.

"Mr. Todd."

An audible sigh and then, "What do you want, Beatrice?"

The question wasn't supposed to hurt her; that much she knew. She fidgeted and then she took a few steps closer to him.

She came to stand a breath away from his stiff back.

"I never properly thanked you…"

Swiftly, angrily he whirled around to face her, "I do not want your gratitude."

"Yet you have it."

"Don't be stupid, girl! What are you doing here?" His eyes swept her form, "You shouldn't worry about parting ways with me. What you _should_ worry about is the reason behind your vomiting-…"

"You once asked me who hurt me. In the past." She cut him off and he sneered.

"You have your secrets, I have mine." His response should have stopped her, deterred her, but it had the opposite effect.

"I know exactly the reason behind my vomiting, sir. And I assure you, it has nothing to do with what you might think."

He pursed his lips and his fists curled, "You don't owe me anything."

She took a step closer, "The song you were humming...it was no tale, was it? The person in it was not a ghost, was it?"

His breath hitched and he took a step back, towards the wall of the arch above them.

"Stop it."

"I know there is something behind your eyes. You don't trust anyone, do you? Not even me."

He scowled, "It's not a matter of trust."

"Of course it is. I have seen your nightmares. I have seen your scars. I know you hate to be touched." Her hand touched his fingers and he pulled his hand away, raising it high above his head. For a moment she thought that he was going to strike her, but he didn't move it.

"I know that you were innocent and yet you were sentenced. I know more than most, don't you think?"

Her voice shook and his hand quivered as he held it away from his body. His eyes were dark and his nostrils were flaring with each breath he took. She continued.

"There is a reason behind your return. There is a reason behind my return."

"Say what you want to say! I have no time for your trickery-…" He dropped his hand and sneered at her, his eyes spitting fire.

"My father killed my mother. That is the reason behind the hate in my eyes. Because he values his drink more than his family. Because he betrayed my trust and got away with it." She took a step back while his features went slack.

"What?"

"I have never said that to anyone before…I…That is why I am getting married. That is why I returned. I want to get away." She shook her head and looked at James who was pacing up and down, his eyes on the ground.

"I just wanted you to know that I am not some naïve little girl. I have seen things that…" Her breath got caught in her throat and she quickly raised a hand up, "I'm sorry for turning you in what you are." She raised her eyes to his and she was shocked to see concentration on his face.

He closed his eyes, "You could never acquire the power to turn me into anything, Beatrice. Don't you see?" He pushed away from the wall, "Everything that I am…Everything that I have become has been forced upon me with sweat, pain and blood. I am not a good man, little girl. Don't you see? You don't owe me _anything_." His muscles unclenched right in front of her eyes.

"But I do."

"No." He nearly screamed the words, "You don't. I don't _want_ you to owe me anything."

Stunned into silence because of his words and because of the fact that despite her confession he did not offer one single word of comfort, she shrank back a little. She gazed at him as if seeing him for the very first time. She realized then that she didn't owe him anything. Everything he'd done hadn't been for her; it had been for him. He had to battle with his own demons. He had killed to exorcise his own devil, the one he had buried for years. Or maybe the devil he wanted to awake.

Acting on an impulse, she moved forward and pressed herself against him. Her arms didn't move to encircle him. She simply pressed her chest against his hard stomach and leaned her forehead against his throat. His chin lay on top of her head and she could feel his chest heaving with his breaths. He would never know the sense of security she felt while pressed against him and he would never appreciate the warmth she felt. He couldn't. It was obvious in the way he held himself; absolutely still. It was a shock that he hadn't already thrown her off of him.

She rubbed her lips against the fabric of his worn cravat in an imitation of a kiss she could never give on his skin and she felt his Adam's apple bob in response. He still didn't send her tumbling to the ground.

"I'm not sorry." She whispered and as she spoke her head brushed against his neck. He didn't speak. He knew what she meant. She was not sorry for helping him. She wasn't sorry for nursing him back to health. She wasn't sorry for nurturing his demon with her lack of good luck. She wasn't sorry for owing him her sanity.

"I'm sorry for delaying you." She murmured and she pushed with her hands against his chest in order to distance herself from him.

His chin moved reflexively forward as she moved back, seeking the silkiness of her red hair and he blinked rapidly when she released him from the confines of her close proximity. He ignored how bare he suddenly felt. He ignored the little devil in his head that basked in his little phoenix's vulnerability when it came to him. He ignored the way his cold heart pounded when her mouth had made contact with his clothing; his _damn_ clothing. He ignored the pride he took in knowing how dependent she was on him. He ignored every single selfish thought because suddenly Barker had taken over. Barker, the little fool, naïve, innocent little barber had decided it was time to take command and allow the girl to be close to him.

_Barker._ He was the cause behind the numbness in his muscles. He was the one who hadn't sent the girl against the wall for touching him. He was the one who was seeking the warmth of Ms. Avalon's lips.

The little traitor. The little sympathetic traitor. Todd's mouth curled up in a sneer. He couldn't help it.

Touch. For fifteen years he had wished for a touch that wasn't meant to hurt or humiliate. For fifteen years he had learned not to bask in the touch of _anyone_ even when it was manipulating enough to make him _think_ that it was meant to offer him pleasure. Fifteen years. Fifteen years and the little nit had managed to wake up Barker. Pathetic.

A flash of red cut through his turmoil and he barely had time to see Beatrice walking away. He barely had time to notice how skittishly she walked away. He barely had time to allow Barker to bask in the liveliness of her long curls.

Curling his fists, he turned away from the sinful sight. A shudder went through him and he felt the little coward Ben slipping away, hiding deep in his tattered soul.

_Good._

"Son." He called, his throat raspy, "Do you know the way to _Ye Olde Cheshire_ _Cheese_?" he called and the lad turned to him, eyes wide.

"Aye, sir!"

He nodded, "Lead the way then." He waved his hand and James walked ahead.

Todd shoved his hands deep in his pockets and followed his young companion in silence.

**End of chapter 8**

**Author's note: Ahem, thank you for reading. I hope it made up for the wait.**

_**Ye Olde Cheshire Cheese**_** is an old pub in 145 Fleet Street. It is still there today according to my research. Anyway. Comments are appreciated.**

**Until next time!**

**Xxx Lina :D**


	9. Chapter 9

**A/N: Hello and welcome back. I apologize for the delay. I want to thank my reviewers: xBelekinax, scarletcat969, Tsukiomi, SpringBorn, MissMisc3, Makrciana, XantheXV, Brya n Cranston, WaterWarrior6, whatcatydidnext, TinkerbellxO, dionne dance, FeliciaFelicis, sm4567 and Leyshla Gisel. I appreciate all the comments and support.**

**On with the chapter, and remember this is Alternate Universe.**

**Disclaimer: I do not own Sweeney Todd.**

* * *

**Chapter 9**

_**Revenge is an act of passion; vengeance of justice.**_

_**Injuries are revenged; crimes are avenged.**_

_**~Samuel Johnson **_

_Turn around. Get out._

The old room seemed like a prison and its old inhabitant kept prodding his subconscious to the point of aggravation.

_**Just a moment more.**_

_No. Get out._

Snarling, he reached out and grabbed the box, its weight heavy like a weapon, but not unwelcome. No. Never unwelcome.

He ignored the woman.

_**Mrs. Lovett. No, Eleanor Lovett. Nellie. Remember her?**_

_**I remember everything I never wished to remember and I have forgotten almost everything that matters!**_

His response was harsh even inside his mind, but the foolish little barber needed to step aside. He was not needed.

He was certain that his inner ramblings were a sign of his insanity, but then again Bedlam's lunatics never actually thought that they were insane…Right?

_Ignore him. Open the goddamn lid!_

He almost smirked with glee as his true self spoke up. He could hear the lad's movements behind him and he could see out of the corner of his glimmering eye that the young sailor was heading towards the direction of Johanna's old crib. He tried hard not to scowl. He needed to focus.

The box's lid creaked on the opening and Todd for a moment thought that he would go blind from the shine. The dirty light of the London morning shone brightly on the handles, the metal as bright as a diamond's glimmering. The corner of his mouth twitched and he reached forward, not eagerly, not too slowly either. His fingers brushed over the cold razors and he ignored the woman's warm breath as it ghosted over his fingers. He didn't need warmth. No. Not when he could have assuring coldness in his palm. His hand picked one, the one with the small scratch on the handle, the very last one that was hiding behind the other six. Choosing it was like choosing his own brand new self; the one that fifteen years of hard work and pain had helped mold. It wasn't perfect like the rest of them because of misuse, but as he placed the other ones away and flicked it open in one swift movement, he felt his heart clench with it. No, the old silver razor wasn't perfect; just like him. It was scratched and slightly overused, but still…The blade was just as sharp, just as deadly. Like him. Exactly like him.

The woman was standing now, trying to speak to him, but he waved her away with a raised hand. She sighed. She always did that and if he recalled correctly he knew that she was probably rolling her eyes. He didn't mind that.

_Do you believe her?_

_Yes. _He tilted the razor, inspecting it and listened as the baker conversed with his young companion.

_Why?_

_Because I need to believe in something. Anything._

_Mistake._

_Maybe._

_What if she's lying?_

_Lying?_

Slowly, he lowered the blade. He took a few breaths and languidly turned his head towards the redhead. She was patting James' back, a small smile on her face. He ignored the lad and focused on her.

"_Your daughter's gone…Mr. Todd. I ain't got nothing to do with it. The girl's gone and so is Lucy. Lucy is dead." The baker hadn't even flinched when he had pounced on her in a fit of tormented anger. Her courage was vibrating off of her in waves that made him look small. Barker would never approve of his attack. Barker cared. Todd didn't._

_She had carried on calmly and that had nearly brought him to his knees._

"_I'd appreciate it if you removed that tatty ol' blade from me neck now." She had whispered and suddenly he had lost all power and strength. He had felt lost. Disorientated. Clueless of the past fifteen years. Clueless that the little attic home had been no heaven, but hell. Clueless…useless…and…and terribly naïve._

_He was certain that he had scared the youth sitting in the booth. The young lad who had helped him. James. __**James.**__ His eyes had widened minutely and slowly, he had dropped the old blade from her neck._

"_That's a good man." Lovett had murmured the words and he had barely felt it when she had led him to a chair. Whatever she had thrust in his hand he had downed it in a huge gulp. He had barely felt the sting of whatever cheap spirit she had poured in that glass. He didn't care. _

He snarled in remembrance and his hand instinctively went to the razor already resting on his belt, tucked in between. His fingers brushed it and as he took another sharp whiff of the stale smell of his small former barbershop he wanted to gag.

_Gone. Everyone's gone. You have to get them back._

_I can't…Not …not Lucy. _Even in his head the words, the admittance felt like acid on his tongue. It felt vile…disgusting…It felt wrong, bitter like venom. Like the one she had used to…to…Like the poison that-…

_Stop! _He blinked, his eyes hurting from the sharp movement of his eyelids.

_You can save the baby._

_She is not a baby anymore! _He nearly sputtered with fury.

_It's your baby._

His jaw clenched and so did his numb heart._ How? _

_Find __**him**__. __**Take**__**her**__ from _him_. Take __**her**__ away. Kill __**him**__._

He smirked. He blinked back whatever annoying substance was making his eyes itch and slowly stood. His back and knees throbbed in protest from being so still for so long, but he barely felt the pain. He pushed it to the back of his mind. He could take it. He had taken worse…Much worse. He growled, the sound low and animalistic that made both of his companions pause. They stared at him; the lad, wide eyed and naïve, the baker, long and hard with a cocked eyebrow. He ignored them as hoarse little sounds and grunts burst from his throat. His fingers tightened around the silver still in his hand, his knuckles white and visible through the half gloves. He lowered his head to stare at the floor, his gaze nearly gnawing holes on the old wooden floorboards. He dug in his heels and briefly closed his eyes. He flicked the razor open, reacquainting himself with its feeling, with its weight. It was different from the other…Much different. He flicked it closed and then open again, until he could breathe without much difficulty. He slowly blinked, his nostrils flaring with the old smell of the room. He needed to get out. He wanted to bolt. He wanted to smash everything in that little unused room. He wanted to tear the door from its hinges so that the smell would evaporate with the wind. Death's smell. Decay's revolting scent. He nearly vomited all over the floor, but he knew that'd make no difference. No. He needed to leave.

The door was half open, blocking his way and he touched the doorknob, feeling its weight and coldness inside his fist. He gritted his teeth. He wanted to think. He wanted to breathe fresh air. He wanted his little phoenix.

He stormed out of the room and the chilly London air slapped his pale skin with a vengeance. He closed his eyes, savoring it. He couldn't hear anything but the pounding of his blood in his ears. He flexed his fingers again and ran a hand through his dark hair, momentarily fisting a few strands before releasing his grip. Opening his eyes, he studied the street. It was nearly empty. The silence was soothing and he was able to close his ears to the baker's questions and ramblings. He heard the footsteps behind him, but he remained by the rail, the rusty old metal finding refuge in the coldness of his hand as he wrapped his fingers around it.

"Mr. Todd?" The lad was talking to him and he ground his teeth together until pain overrode the urge to wring his neck.

"Mr. Todd…Should I take this?"

Todd nearly spat fire, but slowly turned. His face froze in a sneer. James was looking at him innocently, Johanna's old dolly clutched in his calloused hand. Todd blinked and felt very ashamed. Self disdain started oozing out of him in thick rivulets that nearly burned him with the acid that was running through his veins, poisoning his entire being with his contaminated with hate blood.

_Monster_. The little voice whispered and he swallowed hard. Unconsciously, he loosened his grip on the rail and quickly pocketed his precious silver blade.

"James…"

The boy was gazing at him for direction and the barber felt like filth on the lad's shoes. No, he _was_ filth on James' boots.

"Shall I take it, sir? Do you want it?" The young voice was unlike other times. It was timid like always, but it was also lucid, reasonable. Todd's jaw unclenched and the throbbing it left behind soothed him. Pain grounded him. Blinking, he eyed his daughter's dolly, forcing his frozen lips not to quiver like a coward, like Barker.

"Put that away, son." He motioned towards the youth's baggy jacket and he was even more disgusted by himself when James smiled widely, satisfied that for once he had done something right. James put the tattered toy away and secured it with an arm across his chest. Todd turned away, eyeing the stairs as the only gateway to heaven…or hell.

"Come on." He headed for the staircase, slipping his hands deep into the pockets of his leather jacket.

"You're leaving? Where are you going to stay?" The baker's voice nearly made him pause.

"We are staying at the-…"

"Lad!" Todd nearly hissed and James quickly shut his mouth and fidgeted where he stood.

"You're welcome here."

The mere suggestion made his stomach churn. He nearly gagged.

"No." He muttered and then proceeded down the stairs.

"Wait!"

He could hear the woman's heavy skirts as she sprinted after him, but he ignored it. He had no time for her.

_Bastard._

He ignored the little voice and kept descending the stairs, James hot on his heels.

"Mr. B!"

He nearly stumbled, but he dug his feet hard into the bottom step. His eyes narrowed and his fists clenched inside his pockets.

"Mr. Barker." The name sounded foreign to his ears, but his head reeled with it. He blinked once, twice, three times until seconds passed and she spoke again.

"Mr. B?"

The tendons on his neck pulsed with strain as he slowly turned his eyes on her. Something soft was swimming in her gaze…Worry? Hope? He didn't care when it was diminished with his next words.

"Don't _ever_ call me that again." He frowned deeply and his words were like ice, ice that cuts the skin.

The baker frowned too and she stood up straight. Todd marveled her courage and her audacity to smirk.

"Very well. If you want to find the judge." She paused for effect and Todd nearly bared his teeth up at her, "I know where he is. Just say the words." She sent a wink and with a heartfelt smile at James, she turned to close the door.

The barber did not linger to stare at her like she most probably wished and expected.

_Find my baby. _He recognized that little voice; Benjamin. Todd's frown deepened and he even sneered.

"It's not your baby. It's _my_ baby." He whispered in a barely audible voice as he rounded Lovett's courtyard and stepped into the street. James followed him swiftly, his hand sending an awkward farewell towards the baker who was watching them with slightly narrowed eyes. Curiosity was shinning in the brown eyes of Nellie Lovett as she watched the unlikely pair. She jingled the keys in her hand and grabbed hold of her heavy, flour covered skirt. She made her way down the stairs and even peered down the street to watch the barber and his younger companion.

Todd shoved his hands even deeper inside his pockets and pulled up the collar of his jacket, seeking warmth.

_The phoenix_. A little snicker rang in his ears as soon as the little voice in his head murmured the suggestion, but he snarled in disgust.

"Shut up." Even his subconscious was sullying the girl's existence.

_She's already sullied. Ready for the taking…Remember? Maybe you'll even like it._

He shuddered and swallowed thickly.

_Stop it._

_Why?_

He didn't bother to reply to the mean little voice. Instead, he shook his head to clear it and turned to the lad.

"I want you to send a letter, lad. Once we get to the pub." He spoke gruffly, but loudly and James quickly nodded.

"Aye, sir…Sir?"

Todd looked at him, expression much softer now, "Son?"

James frowned a bit, "You only took one…"

Todd knew what the youth was talking about. His silver razors. He sniffed and burrowed deeper into his jacket.

"Yes."

"Why?" James was curious and Sweeney Todd sighed.

"I don't know." He lied, but he knew why. He only needed one to slice a throat…or two. One was enough. For now.

oOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOo

"How long are you staying?" Beatrice fought hard to keep the impatience out of her voice as her father took a seat next to her, hands poised over the fork and knife.

Captain Avalon paused and his eyes took their time to study his daughter's posture. She was sitting in the edge of her seat, dinner nearly untouched, expression pale and ashen.

"Eat your dinner, Bea."

His response caused anger to flare. She was no longer a child. His voice seemed to reverberate, bouncing off the glum walls of the house that she had long ago abandoned. She shivered and gazed longingly outside the window. It was dark outside, the streets were misty, but all she longed to do was escape the tight confines of the large, cold house.

"You need to build a stronger fire." She murmured, looking down at her food like it was poison. She knew it wasn't. She had cooked it.

Her father paused, bite of meat inside his mouth and a frown on his face.

"It's warm enough in here, Bea." He murmured and she didn't look at him. She didn't want to be there. She missed the rocking of the ship. She missed her cabin. She missed being on her own. She missed…

She blinked and clasped her hands together upon her lap. She closed her eyes and admitted it to no one but herself. She missed the sound of his breathing while they sat together in the silence of the night…She missed being… seen; simply watched by someone.

_Stop it. Forget it. _

She watched as her father stood up with a sigh and went to poke the fire, rekindling it until large flames illuminated the room.

When he returned to his seat, he motioned towards her food with his fork.

"Eat. You need to be well. Soon."

She gritted her teeth and stabbed her food with her fork without making any move to actually eat it. The air was suffocating her. She could swear that her mother's blood was still tangy in the air around her.

_I'm going mad. _

It was more probable to smell her own blood, but…her wounds were healed.

_Are they?_

She clenched her thighs together and she could still faintly feel that awful humiliating pain. It caused her to blanch and drop her fork.

_Gather your wits_. She repeated again and again until she could breathe properly.

_It's all in my head. All._

"I am well." She replied a few moments later and pushed her plate away with finality, "You never answered me."

He sighed, "Answer you what?"

Beatrice nearly screamed, "How long are you staying?"

"I've told you before, Bea."

"Stop calling me that!" she exploded, but her father simply carried on eating. She prayed it tasted like ash on his tongue.

"Calm down, Beatrice. I've told you that I won't sail for a while."

His reply was what she dreaded.

"For how long?" she whispered and he groaned.

"You will be rid of me soon. Your engagement approaches. I do believe the wedding won't be too far away either."

She froze, but in a way she was relieved. Anywhere but there would be better. Anywhere.

"When?"

He ignored her and fished a piece of parchment from his pocket, "This arrived today."

"Father, when?" she repeated and he calmly unfolded the letter, "Are you waiting for approval first? Am I going to go under evaluation? See if I fit the man's tastes now that I am no longer your little virgin daughter?"

"Beatrice, enough!" he snapped and she bit her tongue hard enough to bleed, "What is the matter with you? You've been like this since our return." He wiped his mouth with his linen napkin and stared at her as she stared back at him.

"I am fine."

"You're not fine. I'm taking you to a doctor. You need to be examined properly. Are you in any pain-…"

"I don't need a doctor." She tried to keep her voice calm.

"You don't' seem like you don't. You're behaving like a daft woman."

She nearly laughed hysterically, but quickly sobered up. Even Bedlam would be better than having to live with her mother's murderer.

_He's your father._

_No. He is not. He is not my anything._

"I…" she stopped and cleared her throat, "I am just trying to get used to all this. I am fine."

Her father eyed her peculiarly, looking as if he wanted to say more, but instead, he exhaled loudly and looked at the paper in his hand.

"Like I said, his honor will arrange the engagement very soon. I do believe he will pays a visit this week…You remember him?"

Beatrice gently shook her head, "Not enough."

All she recalled was the austere expression, his heavy features and his very dark eyes. He had a little gray on his temples back then. She suspected he was different now.

A shiver went through her, but she willed herself to be brave.

_It's my way out. The only way out._

_What about __**him**__?_

_He…he doesn't have anything to do with me. He…His protective wings are folded away…Far away from me and my problems. He…He has his own demons._

_I don't know anything about him._

"Mr. Todd sent his address with the lad today."

Her head snapped up quickly, the action nearly making her dizzy. Her heart swelled and expanded inside her chest, causing her ribcage to seem rather small all of a sudden.

"J-James?" her voice quivered and her father nodded.

"Hmm."

"Where are they staying?" She tried to maintain a casual face. She succeeded, for her father seemed oblivious to her sudden interest.

"A pub down Fleet Street." He passed the parchment to her and she immediately grasped it in her suddenly sweaty hand. She eyed the address and then gently folded it, remaining silent.

"Will you be able to organize a dinner next weekend?"

Her father's suggestion nearly sent her to the ground, but did not lessen her compulsion to flee the house.

"Of course."

"Good. Now eat." He didn't look at her again and she was glad.

oOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOo

_What am I doing?_

She wondered about her actions as she walked down the street on her own. The dark, foggy atmosphere did nothing to deter her from her purpose. She ignored the filthy beggars, the hunched figures hiding into dark alcoves and especially the voices. Huddling closer into her shawl, she rounded the corner, her feet lighter once she stepped into Fleet Street.

_You're a fool_. Her inner voice whispered into her ear and she shrugged it off like an annoying fly.

She could see the lights of the pub and for a moment she faltered. It was late. After midnight. He wasn't going to be anywhere near the bar.

Doubt started eating her up, but she had come all the way from her house. She dreaded getting back home.

Home. She wrinkled her nose at that. It wasn't a home. No. It was far from a home. It was a crime scene. A cold prison. A terrifying haunted house that threatened to drown her, suffocate her.

_Move on. Just move on._

The nasty whispering from the darkened alcoves was all the encouragement she needed. Taking a deep breath, she blinked and with her head lowered she continued treading her way towards the old pub.

She didn't look up, even when she heard footsteps behind her. A shiver went up and down her spine as she imagined Todd's face. He would probably sneer at her and call her stupid if he saw her. Nevertheless, she carried on until a hard body collided with her own. She screeched in pure fright, hope flaring when she saw the pub's lights in front of her, but quickly receding when she saw an unfamiliar face sneering down at her. The fact that she fell flat on her back didn't help either.

"Going somewhere, poppet?" he snickered and she backed away, trying hard not to cower, "Need a little help getting up?" he licked his lips and she cursed at her foolishness. She was a bad fairytale for children…or an insipid story for adults.

A strong hand curled around the loose fabric of her shawl and she yelped as she was snatched upwards. Her side and arm collided with a lithe solid body and she was immediately surrounded by a familiar scent; leather and something tangy.

"She's fine." The hiss was familiar and she looked up. The angry, ashen vintage of Todd greeted her and she damned herself when her heart swelled inside her chest.

The larger man backed off while keeping his hands raised above his head, the leer still on his bearded face.

A push on her arm sent her forward and she was momentarily staggered by the abrupt, curt gesture. Her arm throbbed from the pressure of his cold fingers as he led her towards the pub's entrance.

He released her shawl like it was contaminated with the plague itself and she looked up at him.

"Are you stupid?" he hissed and her throat constricted. The barber eyed her like an alien thing and then sneered, "Cat ate your tongue, girl?"

Beatrice licked her dry lips and slowly shook her head, "What are you doing here?" he asked as he pulled her away from the pub's entrance. She was forced to step closer to him when a large group of men took their leave.

"I saw the letter you sent to my father." She whispered with her nose almost buried in his leather jacket.

He wasn't touching her, but she could feel the tension and barely there warmth radiating off of him in calming sparks. She watched as he curled his fingers into fists and then quickly uncurled them. His fingers were long, thin and pale, but she was certain that they held strength. He could choke her if he so wished it. He sure looked like he wanted to.

"And? That doesn't come anywhere close to explaining your appearance." He spoke behind nearly closed lips and she felt more than just a little unwelcome.

She looked up at him, staring into his narrowed black eyes and she had no answer.

"What do you want?" he almost spat, teeth slightly bared in a snarl.

What did she want? The answer was simple…Nothing. She wanted nothing.

"Nothing." She replied with unadulterated honesty and she could see that her reply confused him. The frown between his dark eyebrows was deep and pronounced by the hard lines around his eyes, but it suited him. He was beautiful. She blinked and gently shook her head.

_What are you doing?_

He regarded her oddly, his mouth moving, but forming no words. He seemed uncomfortable, gruff, ragged and…his eyes were duller than ever. Not even a single spark inside them. Something had happened because all of a sudden he seemed to wither right in front of her. He closed his eyes, clenched his teeth and flexed his hands.

When he opened his eyes again, they were cold and empty.

"You should get back." He muttered and she felt a wave of panic hit her.

She didn't speak though. He probably thought her mad. Wandering in the dark on her own…And for what? To see him?

Closing her eyes, she nodded.

_He's a murderer yet he seems more logical than you._

"I'm sorry." She muttered and his eyes were on hers suddenly. Yells and shouts echoed in the distance and Todd's eyes roamed the street, narrowing in suspicion.

"I don't want you to be sorry. I need you to stop acting foolishly." He grabbed her arm to lead her away, but she stumbled over her own feet. Her hands shot out and connected with his solid, scarred chest. He inhaled sharply and froze.

Beatrice didn't immediately catch on and when she lingered, he grasped both her hands and threw them away from his body.

"I'm so sorry-…"

His nostrils flared and even though she had broken his no touching rule he didn't speak. He simply took hold of her elbow and started walking with her down the street.

Beatrice was confused by his silence and her nature didn't allow her to remain quiet.

"Did something happen?" she whispered and his entire form stiffened.

Her eyes burned holes in his profile, but he stared right ahead, his body tense and alert like a lion's. She probably looked like a tiny ginger cat next to him.

"What happened?" she murmured again and he turned his eyes on her, his dark orbs so black she couldn't make out the brown in his gaze.

"What makes you think something happened?" he spat the words like poison and she swallowed thickly.

"Your eyes." She replied calmly and his expression turned odd.

"Stop trying to read me, Beatrice. It's useless." He murmured and she eyed his hand on her elbow. His knuckles were white from his grip.

"I am trying to get to know you."

He released her and she swayed dangerously. His eyes widened when her head brushed precariously close to a wall and his fingers grabbed her wrist to pull her away from the rough edge.

"Goddamn it, woman! Can you even walk without a chaperon?" he hissed as he let go of her and thrust his hands deep in his pockets.

Beatrice flushed three shades of red and lifted her chin, "If you didn't bloody push me around, I'd be able to walk in a straight line."

"I doubt it! I think that bastard fucked through your head too!" he spat and Beatrice froze, her cheeks crimson.

She paused and watched him as he closed his eyes. His shoulders were jolted upwards and when his muscles relaxed again, his face showed regret.

"I'm not worth it. Don't you see?" he muttered as he gazed everywhere but her, "What do you want, Beatrice?" he looked at her sideways and she was stunned.

Her chest heaved as he slowly turned to face her, "What do you seek?"

She swallowed and then licked her dry lips. His black eyes followed the movement, but she didn't notice.

"Safety…What do you want?" she whispered as she finally locked eyes with him.

His features twisted into an ugly mask of revulsion, "What every wronged man wants. Revenge." His breath was hot on her lips as he stepped closer, "Don't you want revenge too, little girl?"

"I'm not a little girl." She murmured and a muscle in his cheek twitched.

"To me you are." The yells and groans were closer now and he placed a hand on his belt, "The difference between you and me is that you are able to be reborn from your ashes." His eyes greedily took her in and she shivered, "You're a phoenix. I am just ash. Nothing more."

Beatrice couldn't breathe, "You're wrong."

"Am I?" he raised his hand and tapped her temple with a single cold finger, "It's all in here. You need to stop it."

"Stop what?"

His nostrils flared as a pained moan from somewhere behind them resonated in the night.

"Seeking me out."

She inhaled sharply when the pain moan turned into a howl. Nevertheless, she ignored it and stepped closer to him, not caring that they were in the middle of a nearly deserted, yet highly dangerous street.

"Do you want me to?" she murmured as she placed a finger on his worn cravat. He flinched and regarded her with bemusement, but did not speak.

"How is the scar?" she whispered instead and his muscles coiled in response. Her fingers ventured towards his chest and he choked on a gurgled groan of panic at her touch. His fingers seized her wrist, his voice winded when he spoke.

"Stop it." he hissed as he glared down at her, "Beatrice, _stop_ it."

She curled her fingers into a fist and stepped closer to him.

He nearly fell over in his attempt to put some distance between them, but when the sounds of someone struggling reached his ears he snarled and slipped his hand behind her neck, grabbing her like an insolent pup.

"Walk." He grumbled, completely brushing off their conversation as he propelled her forward.

"Sweeney-…"

"Don't call me that. Walk and stop acting like a clingy whore." The words were cruel and cutting and she cowered momentarily before she shrugged out of his hold.

His eyes widened minutely when she stepped back from him and he regarded her cautiously as she gently shook her head and bit her lip.

"I'm sorry for coming here. My father is expecting you and James next Saturday." She whispered and turned around.

There was silence, but then his footsteps echoed behind her. She paused and tensed up when she felt him against her back.

She strained her ears to listen for any sounds, a word, but the only thing she heard was his heavy breathing. Turning her head, she gazed at him from over her shoulder.

He was gazing at her long hair, his brow furrowed, his lips curled in a tiny scowl that made her throat dry.

"I don't…" Words failed him and he closed his eyes, gritting his teeth.

"It's alright, Mr. Todd. I know you don't think I'm a whore." She murmured almost fondly and his eyes snapped open. His gaze burned her skin as he studied her like she was the most peculiar thing he'd ever seen and she dared to turn around.

"My wife's dead." The words tumbled out of his mouth almost without his consent and as soon as they did he regretted it.

Beatrice inhaled sharply, trying to wrap her mind around that brand new piece of information, but failing to. He…had a wife. She took a step back, but then stopped. Why was she surprised? He was much older. He should have had a life before…before…everything.

Questions assaulted her at once. Who was she? Did he love her? How much did he love her? How was he with her? Did…did he have children? How did she die?

She swallowed past the lump in her throat and without speaking she approached him. His eyes were focused on a spot on the filthy ground and the noise of the still ongoing struggle was still a sinister veil around them, but neither of those facts deterred her. Without moving her arms, she pressed herself against him, her chest against his stomach and her head against his chest, just under his neck. He shuddered greatly and stumbled backwards. His back collided with the closest wall and he collapsed against it, leaning heavily into the hard bricks with her tucked under his chin.

His chest was heaving with his sharp, short breaths and her scent was everywhere. His hands twitched by his sides, but he did not move them. He curled them into fists and allowed his muscles to unfurl like a bird's wings.

Beatrice gently rubbed her cheek against the fabric of his shirt and jacket and took a last deep whiff of his scent before she moved away. His chest expanded as she pulled back and when she looked up their eyes locked.

"Do you like beef?" she murmured as if speaking to a child and he frowned, his eyes flashing.

Smiling, she stepped further back, "That's what I'm making for Saturday." She whispered and he looked at her as if he had just witnessed her walking on bloody water.

Raising her hand in farewell, she turned and hurried down the street, her feet carrying her quickly towards her father's house.

Todd watched her go. His stomach clenched and fire flared in his lower belly as he watched her with heavy eyes. He swallowed and felt disgust when he realized how dry his mouth and throat were. Snarling, he ran his hands through his dark mass of hair before he pushed away from the wall. His eyes moved over the street and his ears prickled when he heard the sound of skin slapping against skin. Mouth curled in a scowl, he took off towards the sound of the ongoing mayhem.

None of the two men saw him as he rounded the corner and slipped into the dark alcove. They were too busy pulling their pants upwards.

Quick as a thunder, his fingers grabbed hold of the old razor, not the silver one. No, not that one just yet.

His eyes, wide and wild took in the heap of limbs that was sprawled onto the filthy ground. The little girl's pale blue eyes flashed with fright as he approached her laughing assailants.

She whimpered, but he simply pressed a finger against his lips. The girl got quiet and slipped backwards just as the barber grabbed hold of one of the men. A flash of a blade and the man fell to the ground with a gurgled groan. The other one tried to run, but he was too slow from drink and pleasure to do as he wished.

He barely had time to blink before Todd sliced his throat open and dropped him to the ground.

Breathing heavily, he stood over the two still bodies, listening to the girl's quiet whimpers. She wasn't older than twelve.

Flicking the razor shut, he put it in his pocket, slick with tainted blood it stained his jacket, but he didn't care.

Crouching, he regarded the girl with hard, calculating eyes. She was a mess, but nowhere near death.

_**Don't.**_

_Why not? __**Look**__ at her._

_**I said no. Pick her up.**_

_Shut up._

_**Pick her up. Leave her in front of the church. Save her.**_

_No._

_**Yes. Do it. Pick her up.**_

Snarling, he lurched forward and grabbed the girl around the waist. She didn't put up much of a fight. He stood up and adjusted his hold on her before he moved forward. His right hand was bloodied, but it didn't matter. The girl was a mess of blood anyway. He could smell it on her. It made him sick. It made him think of _her_. His nostrils flared in remembrance of her sweet scent and he quickened his pace.

A low growl vibrated deep in his chest as he walked, almost invisible in the dark.

Lucy. He ought to think of Lucy.

_Lucy's dead._

_**Shut up, Barker. **_

_She is dead. Because of us._

_**No.**_

_Yes._

He tightened his grip on the tiny body in his arms. The child huddled naively closer.

_It's our fault. We left her._

_**No. Johanna.**_

_Johanna is alive._

_**She should have never left Johanna. My baby.**_

_Johanna is not dead._

_**Lucy left her. She didn't live for her.**_

_No…_

_**Yes, Barker. **_**Yes**_**.**_

He left the young girl inside St. Dustan's church. Her pale eyes shone with gratitude. A gratitude he felt like he didn't deserve.

**End of chapter 9**

**Author's note: Still here? Thank you for reading! **

**St. Dustan's is a church in Fleet Street. It was founded around 988 AD according to my research.**

**Comments?**

**Until next time!**

**Xxx Lina**


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